A (Somewhat) Friendly Game of Baseball
by Number One Fan of Journey
Summary: It's America vs. Japan in an epic game of baseball! But it's not a one-person sport, and the teamups are more confusing than promising. Who will win? Will the teams work out? And will someone wake Greece up, already? !
1. The Teams Assemble

A/N: Welcome to my newest Hetalia crackfic! It should be a pretty funny one, too. x3 There are no pairings. The first chapter is a little bit boring--I felt I needed to explain the teams or they would make no sense--but I promise it will get better soon! Apparently the countries are the only humans in existence here. *sweatdrop* Overlook if you can. And please R&R!

Japan took a few steps and stopped at the door. He paused, then knocked.

"Coming, aru!" A few clunks of things being put up preceded the door opening. "Japan," China acknowledged. "What's up?"

"Um, good morning," Japan replied. "I've been invited to play a game of baseball against America, and I was wondering if you'd like to join my team."

"Sure," China replied. "Just let me finish my breakfast, and I'll be right out, aru."

"Okay," Japan replied with a nod. "Thank you."

* * *

"Canada!" America called, pounding on his brother's door. After a moment with no answer, he shrugged, pulling out the key he had to Canada's house and swinging the door open himself.

"Canada!"

"America?" Canada stumbled over to his foyer sleepily. "What's going on?"

"Come on!" America started, tugging on Canada's shirtsleeve. "I've got to get a baseball team together by noon!"

"Baseball…?"

"Yeah, you'll play? Good!" America exclaimed, somehow concluding that Canada was agreeing to join him.

"Okay…?"

* * *

"Japan! Japan!"

"Hm? Oh, hello, Italy."

"What are you doing?" Italy asked, padding over to where Japan and China had now stopped.

"I'm looking for people to join my baseball team for a match against America," Japan replied. "…Would you want to play?"

"Sure!" Italy replied. "Are you going to ask Germany, too?"

"That's a good idea. Let's see if we can find him."

* * *

"Hey! Germany!" Germany quickly put away the not-family-friendly book he was reading and answered the door.

"America? What the heck do you want?"

"I need to put a baseball team together by noon! Will you play?"

"I'm, uh, kind of busy…"

"Oh, it's only for one match!" America replied. "And I need all the players I can get!"

"Well… All right."

* * *

"Italy, hurry up, aru!" China complained, looking over his shoulder at Italy.

"Wh-why are going so fast, Japan?" Italy responded, picking up his pace a little but still far from keeping up with the Asian nations.

"I have to get the team together by noon," Japan replied with a sigh. "I'm not quite sure why I agreed to it, but America just always wants to do things so quickly…"

"You threw it too far!"

"Did not!"

Japan's team of three turned to see where the voices had come from just as a baseball landed near China's foot.

"Ah! Sorry!" Spain, a baseball glove on his hand, was running toward the ball. "Sis throws too hard." He picked up the baseball, and Japan and China exchanged glances.

"Would you be interested," Japan started, "in playing a game of baseball against America? We've been looking for players."

"A game?" Spain echoed.

"Hey! Are you coming back or not?!"

Spain craned his neck behind him. "In a minute, Sis!" he called, then turning back to smattering on Japan's team thus far. "Well, I don't see why not," he replied slowly.

"Spa-a-a-ain!"

"Oh, just come over here and get it! I'm going to play a game with these guys!" He turned back toward Japan with a chuckle. "Heh, Sis is kind of impatient; sorry…"

"Oh, no problem," Japan replied. "So you would like to play with us?"

"Yeah. I could probably be, uh, shortstop," Spain suggested.

"Pfft. You shouldn't play actual baseball, Spain. You couldn't hit a home run if your life depended on it!" Spain's little sister, Mexico, had finally come into sight, hands on hips.

"Sis," Spain moaned. "Just because you always hit it out of the park doesn't mean I can't…"

"Well, you can't," Mexico replied with a shrug, taking the baseball out of her brother's hands.

"So, uh, shall we go?" Spain asked.

"All right," Japan replied. "Let's see if we can find Germany now."

* * *

"You've got to be kidding me!" Germany shouted as America knocked on the door.

"Hey, I need all the players I can get!" America replied. "And his house was close, so…" America cut off as the door in front of him opened.

"What do _you_ want?" Poland responded with a pout. "I'm, like, right in the middle of putting in my new furniture."

"Morning, Poland!" America replied cheerfully, oblivious to Poland's soured mood. "I'm gathering people to join me in a baseball match against Japan! Want to come?"

Poland just glared at America and slammed the door shut.

"Huh?" America responded. "Why don't you want to play?" He tried to peer through the door's peephole.

"Um, maybe we should try somewhere else," Canada suggested. "I don't think Poland is going to join us…"

"No!" America replied. "I've found someone who can play, and he's going to play!"

"How the heck do you know he can play?!" Germany shouted. "Even if we recruit him, he'd be totally useless!"

"Excuse me?" Poland had opened the door a sliver again. "What makes you think I, like, can't play?"

"Because you're a freaking sissy!" Germany replied with a scoff.

"Please!" Poland scoffed. "I have _totally_ kicked your butt before, and—"

"So you'll play? Great!" America interrupted, yanking Poland outside.

* * *

Japan knocked on the door one more time.

"He's obviously not home, aru."

"Y-You don't think America recruited him, do you?" Italy asked distressfully.

"I doubt it…" Japan checked the doorknob, but it was locked. "But in either case, we'll have to bypass his house for now. Let's find someone else."

"I bet France'd be willing to play if it's against America," Spain suggested. "Should we try his house?"

"Good idea," Japan replied with a nod.

The partial team wasn't far from France's house, so they arrived soon.

"France, France!" Italy called, knocking on the door.

"What is it?" came France's slightly-garbled voice a few moments before the door opened.

"Do you want to come play baseball?" Italy replied cheerfully.

"Well…" France took his foamy toothbrush out of his mouth to yawn. "Maybe…"

"You'd be in our lineup," Japan clarified. "We're playing against America's team."

"Well…" France brushed a hand through his hair, which was perfectly brushed despite his overall just-woken-up appearance. "Okay. Just give me a minute to get ready."

"All right," Japan replied, "thank you."

France nodded and shut the door.

* * *

"Hmm…" America sighed. "Who should we sign up next?"

"Well, can we think of anyone who knows how to play baseball, for sure?" Canada suggested.

"I can't," America muttered.

"Can't what?" Germany asked, confused.

Canada sighed, realizing Germany must not have noticed what he said.

"Ah! Hello!" The crew turned to see a cheerful Finland walking toward them. "It's a nice day, isn't it?" the blonde continued.

"Why, yes, it is!" America replied. "A perfect day to play baseball!"

"Baseball?" Finland echoed, now standing next to America.

"Yes! Do you know how to play?"

"Um, kind of," Finland replied. "Why? Are you going to play a game?"

"Yes, we are! Would you like to join us?"

"Sure," Finland replied with a smile.

* * *

"France, there's kind of a deadline…" Japan started, his team's newest recruit yet to come out the door. "We have to get the team assembled by noon, so if you wouldn't mind, perhaps you could expedite—"

"I'm going as fast as I can!" France huffed. "I'll be done before then, but no time soon." He paused. "Unless you wouldn't mind me coming out naked."

"Uh, no, thank you," Japan responded quickly. "Um… I should continue scouting players now if I want to find enough… Do you mind if we come back a few minutes before noon?"

"Go ahead; that's fine. I'll be waiting."

"All right, thank you." Japan looked around the neighborhood. "Who else could I recruit? I still need four players," he muttered. "Any ideas?" he asked, looking over his group.

"We could try Germany's house again," Italy suggested.

But when the team arrived back at Germany's house, it was still empty and locked.

"Guess we're running out of time, aru," China commented, checking a nearby clock.

"Mm, who else is around here?" Spain muttered, looking at the houses near him.

* * *

"…Do you even know where we are?" Germany started, squinting through the bright sunlight at his surroundings.

"Of course I do!" America replied. "We're… in Europe!"

"Well, duh!" Germany replied loudly.

"What the heck are you doing here, potato-freak?!"

"Eh?" Germany turned to see an angry-looking Romano stomping toward him.

"We're recruiting players for a baseball team!" America replied enthusiastically.

"Let me guess," Romano sneered, glaring at Germany, "you're trying to recruit my brother!"

"Well, actually—"

"I won't let you!" Romano turned to America. "America! I'll join your team if you promise not to let my brother join."

Germany opened his mouth to object, but wasn't quick enough.

"Okay, sure!" America replied.

* * *

"Ah! England!" Japan called, waving to get the blonde's attention.

"Ah? What's going on?" England replied, jogging over to Japan's group. "Is something wrong?"

"Oh! No, nothing's wrong," Japan replied. "But I've been gathering players for a baseball match against America, and I need nine by noon today. Do you think you'd be willing to play?"

England paused in thought. "Well, I don't really have anything to do today… And maybe it'll get Sealand off my back for a while… Sure, I'll play."

"Ah! Thank you," Japan replied with a small bow.

* * *

"Okay… who's around here, then?" Canada muttered. "We're by Romano's house, so…"

"Yes! Who is around here?" America copied, pacing back and forth.

"Well, Greece lives nearby," Romano replied coolly, still glaring at Germany. "Would you want to recruit him?"

"Excellent idea!" America exclaimed.

The group soon arrived at Greece's place, welcomed by several kittens.

"Oh, they're kind of cute," Canada commented quietly, patting one of the cats' heads.

"Hey, you better not give me fleas," Germany muttered, nudging one of the cats away with his foot.

"Hey! Greece!" America called loudly, spotting a figure by the ruins. "Are you awake?!"

"I bet he is now," Finland said with a chuckle, covering his ears as America called for Greece again.

"Good morning, America," Greece yawned, sitting up. "What's going on?"

"Want to play baseball with us?" America asked, getting straight to the point. "I need three more people on my team!"

"Um… I guess… If you need me…"

"Ha, ha! Two more!" America shouted victoriously.

"What's all this ruckus?" America's team turned to see Turkey walking toward them.

"I'm recruiting players for my baseball team!" America replied immediately. "Will you join?"

"Hmm… Baseball?" Turkey paused. "Sounds fun, but…"

"Let me guess," Greece suggested. "You suck at it."

"I do not!" Turkey spat back.

"Sure," Greece replied. "Just like you don't suck at letting people see your freaking face."

"There is nothing wrong with my mask!" Turkey screamed back.

"Hey!" Germany barked. "Enough of this! We're on a tight schedule, and we don't have time for your arguing! We just need to know whether you'll play or not!"

"Oh, I'll play," Turkey replied, glaring at Greece. "And I'll kick your sorry butt at it," he sneered.

"You keep telling yourself that, weakling," Greece responded, following America as he led the group away from Turkey's place.

"Weakling?! I'll have you know…"

* * *

"Three more! I just need three more," Japan muttered, looking around. "I only have five minutes, counting the time it will take to trek to our arranged meeting place…"

"Wait, don't you mean four?" England responded, eyeing over the crowd. "Baseball needs nine players, right?"

"Oh, don't worry!" Italy responded. "We also have France playing for us! He's just taking a while getting ready."

"France?!" England stopped. "You didn't tell me I'd be on the same team as France!"

"Ah! Do you… not want to play, then… England?" Japan asked out of courtesy, though he really didn't want to lose a team member.

"I—"

"Oh, please don't leave, England!" Italy sobbed. "We really, really need you on our team! Ple-e-e-ase?"

England facepalmed slightly and sighed. "I'm not really—"

"We can put you clear across the diamond from France," Spain suggested quickly.

"Well…" England sighed. "All right, I'll stay…"

"Yay! Thank you, England!" Italy responded, cheerful again.

"Let's just get this over with," England sighed.

"Agreed," Japan replied. "But where am I going to find three more players, within five minutes?"

"How about over there, aru?" China replied, pointing over to his left.

Japan turned his head to see the three Baltic countries making their way across a field.

"Good idea," Japan replied, starting to run toward the Baltics. "Excuse me! Latvia, Estonia, Lithuania! Are you busy?"

"Eh? Busy, no," Estonia replied. "Why?"

"I need three more players for a baseball team," Japan replied quickly. "Would you be willing to join us?"

"Maybe… Whom are you playing against? If it's Russia…" Lithuania trailed off, exchanging a glance with his neighbors.

"Well, we're battling America's team," Japan replied. "So it would be unfeasible for Russia to be on his team, with their history."

"Really?" Latvia responded. "That sounds fun, then!"

"It will be," Japan guaranteed. "Would you all like to participate?"

"Well, I have no problem with baseball, though I can't say I'm very good," Estonia replied with a shrug. "Why not?"

"Guess I'll play, too," Lithuania said.

"Good! Thank you all very much," Japan said. "Now, we need to hurry, pick up France, and get to America's house!"

* * *

"Great. Like, all this fuss and we're not even going to have enough players," Poland complained.

"Well, maybe if a _certain _couple of nations would _quit squabbling,_ we'd have found someone by now," Germany responded, glaring back at Turkey and Greece.

"Where am I going to find someone in two minutes?!" America panicked, running around and looking for signs of people. "I'll take anyone! Anyone!"

"What are you looking for, America?"

America turned to the speaker quickly and glared. "Anyone but you!" he shouted at Russia, who only smiled.

"Are you sure? You seemed awfully desperate," Russia replied. "Or was I imagining it?"

"No! I am _never _playing on the same team as you!" America yelled, stomping on the ground for emphasis.

"You have one minute to get back to your house, America," Canada said. "Maybe you could, maybe, possibly consider—"

"No, no, no! I am _not _letting _him_ on _my_ baseball team!" America responded angrily.

"Oh, baseball? I can play baseball," Russia replied with a smile.

"Well, you're not playing for me! I—"

"Enough!" Germany interrupted. "We have less than a minute to get all the way back to your house! If you can't stand Russia being on your team for a single game, then, by all means, reject him! But if you're planning on playing this game you've already spent so much time arranging, just let him in!"

America glared at Russia, but couldn't find anything mature to argue back with. "Fine," he spat. "But just this one game!"

"Okay," Russia replied.

"Now let's move!" Germany barked.

* * *

Japan panted, slowing as he reached America's front door. "Phew. I thought I was going to be late for sure." He looked around. "America? Are you already here?"

"Coming!" America called, sprinting down the last stretch to his house as his teammates lagged behind. He panted. "Well… Let's, uh… get to your field, then."

"Eh? _My_ field?" Japan responded confusedly. "I thought we were playing at your field…"

"Wha? But mine's not ready for anyone to play on!"

"Neither is mine…"

Japan and America stared at each other for a second. America sighed.

"Well, crap."


	2. Play Ball!

A/N: Chapter two! A bit shorter than the first, but still fun. :3 Iggy gets a pirate moment~ And he swears once (a couple more if you consider "bloody" a full-fledged swear word), but I censored it, because... I am just that way. o.O And I have no idea of the characters' handedness. For my sake, I am making them all right-handed. (But if you know someone is left-handed, feel free to tell me. :3) ((The Awesome Prussia will most likely not appear, by the by. I am already using too many characters I do not know well, but Prussia does not blend into the background as well as they do... *sweatdrop*))

"I guess I could pick mine up a bit," Japan said slowly, "but the grass is probably too tall to play on…"

"My grass is fine," America responded, "but there's hardly any sand to run on… And I think someone stole second base…"

"So we're not playing?" Finland, the first of America's team to catch up with him, concluded with a frown.

"Well…" America sighed. "I guess we can't today…"

"After all this trouble, too," Japan sighed. "Oh, well…"

"You need a baseball field to play on, huh? I can arrange that."

"Ah? Switzerland?" Japan responded, turning toward the newcomer.

"You have a baseball field?" America asked. "Could we play on it?"

"I wouldn't offer it if I didn't want you to play," Switzerland replied. "Of course, it wouldn't be free, but I guarantee I won't overcharge you…"

"Well, we do have our teams together," Japan considered. "All right. Do you want to play on his field, America?"

"Yes! Let's go!"

"Right this way," Switzerland replied with a smile.

"Who-o-oa! This is _huge_!" America exclaimed as he and Japan stopped in front of Switzerland's stadium.

"Yes. I don't think you'll need all the stands," Switzerland responded, "but I'm sure you'll be satisfied with the field."

"I should think so," Japan replied.

"Well, go on in," Switzerland prompted.

America and Japan padded through the wide main door, their teams shuffling in behind them. They set foot on the field and looked over it in awe.

Every blade of grass was a uniform shade of bright green and mowed down perfectly. Smooth sand coated the basepath and infield. Bright white lines stretched across where they were needed, and bright white bases were set at perfect right angles.

"Wo-o-ow! This is really neat!" Italy exclaimed, running over to see how springy the grass was.

"It's very nice," Japan agreed. He turned to Switzerland. "Thank you again for letting us use it."

"No problem," Switzerland replied. "Would you rather have everyone pay for it now or when you're done?"

"When we're done, I suppose," Japan replied. "I'm not sure if everyone has money with them at the moment…"

"All right," Switzerland replied. "And if you need an umpire, I'll do it for an extra—"

"Germany-y-y-y!" Italy's wail interrupted. "Wh-why are you on America's team?"

"I didn't know you were playing," Germany replied with a sigh. "And America's really pushy about this kind of thing, so I'm not sure if I really had the choice…"

"Well, I don't see Russia anywhere," Estonia muttered, bobbing his head to look through the crowd, "so maybe…"

"Um, Latvia?" Lithuania started slowly. He and Estonia followed the now-horribly-shaking Latvia's line of sight.

"I-I th-th-th-th-think h-h-he's h-h-h-here," Latvia whimpered.

"Oh, no…"

"…years ago!" Turkey humphed, crossing his arms.

"But I was still one of the first to kick you out," Greece reminded.

"That's not my point, you flea-bitten Mama's boy!"

"Oh? You two are playing?" Japan had finished talking to Switzerland, despite the noise, and was walking toward America's one-day teammates.

"Um, yes…" Greece replied, cocking his head to the side. "…I'm not playing against _you_, am I?"

"A ha ha! I guess I forgot to mention that part!" America said.

"But… I don't want to play _against_ Japan…" Greece mumbled.

"W-Well, I don't, either!" Turkey responded loudly. "America, we're switching teams!"

"Wh-what? No, you can't do that!" America exclaimed. "I need nine people on my team!"

"Ooh! I'll join your team, America!" Italy chirped.

"No, you won't!" Romano shouted. He turned to America. "You promised," he reminded. "My brother won't be on the same team as Mr. Potato Freak!"

"R-Right… Oh! Russia! Do _you_ want to switch teams, too?"

"No, I'm fine," Russia replied with a smile.

"Are you sure?"

"Well, I don't really want to be on either bloody team," England scoffed. "If it's either playing with Mr. Pitiful Romance or Mr. Supersized Ego, I'd just as soon leave the whole game."

"I don't think I want to play, either," Estonia sighed. Latvia nodded in agreement, but he was shaking so much it was hard to tell.

"Um, everyone? Everyone!" The angry chatter died down a bit as most looked toward Japan, who continued. "I realize the team-ups may not be ideal, but we have all agreed to play. I see no problem with some people switching teams, so… Who, on America's team, would like to switch to mine?"

Greece and Turkey raised their hands. America motioned pointedly at Russia, but the Siberian nation made no move to raise his hand.

"And who, on my team, would like to switch to America's?"

Italy raised his hand quickly, but upon the livid glare he received from his brother, put it back down. The Baltic nations looked at one another, but could not find reason to put themselves closer to Russia.

"Hmm… What do you think, America?" Japan sighed.

"Let's just keep the teams the same," America grumbled, glaring at Russia.

"All right, then," Japan replied with a nod. "I apologize to you two," he continued, looking at Turkey and Greece, "but we do need to keep the teams even."

"Um… That's okay," Greece replied.

"Yes! Whatever you decide is perfectly fine, Japan!"

"So, is everyone ready to go?" Switzerland started. The crowd nodded. "All right, then. The batting helmets and bats are in the dugouts—they're free as long as you don't damage them—and there are gloves for sale as well."

"For sale?" America echoed. "You mean we don't just get gloves?"

"Well, good thing I brought mine, then!" Spain said happily.

"Yes; now I don't have to pay for one," England replied, holding his hand out and looking expectantly at Spain.

"Eh? B-But it's mine…"

"Not for this game."

Spain frowned, looking down at his glove. "Do I have to…?"

"Yes."

"Okay…"

"All right, then," Japan said, pulling his new, probably-going-to-fall-apart-after-one-game baseball glove over his hand. "Whose team bats first?"

"Mine, of course!" America exclaimed.

"All right," Japan replied. He looked over at his team. "So… Who knows what defensive position he plays?"

"I'll be catcher, aru," China volunteered.

"I said shortstop before," Spain started, "so I'll stick to that."

"No preference," England said, "but remember you promised I'd be far away as possible from that git." He nodded at France.

"Right," Japan replied. He paused. "Is that all, then? No one else knows what position to play?"

There was no response.

"All right… Then, I'll be pitcher… You two get what you volunteered for—" he nodded at Spain and China— "England, you play right field, and France, left field. Um… Italy, you can be center field… And Lithuania, you be first base, Estonia, second, and Latvia, third. Does that sound all right to everyone?"

No one objected, and the members of Japan's team turned to the outfield to take their positions.

"Ah! One more thing!" Switzerland started. The players paused and looked back at him. "Which country's rules should I umpire by?"

"Um…" Japan looked over at America. "I don't think I'm familiar with all of your rules… And I'm not even sure what some other countries' rules may be. What do you think we should do?"

"Eh, let's just do the really basic rules," America replied with a shrug. "Three strikes to an out, four balls to a walk, three outs to an at-bat! On or over the foul lines for a foul! Over the back fence for a home run! No more than one batter on one base! You get out on tags and catches, and, uh… That's it!"

"Okay, sounds good," Japan replied. "That's what we'll do."

"Got it," Switzerland replied, putting on a helmet.

"Okay! I bat first!" America announced as those on his team grabbed their helmets off their shelves in the dugout. "And then somebody bat after me, and then somebody after him! Okay?"

"Sure…"

"All right, America," Japan said with a smile, tossing the first baseball in his hand a couple of times. "Let's see who's better at baseball once and for all, hm?"

"Ha, ha! It's me for sure!"

Japan wound up. "We'll see about that!" he shouted, firing off a pitch.

America grunted, swinging hard, but too late.

"Strike," Switzerland called as China threw the ball back to Japan.

"An interesting start," Japan commented with a smirk, winding up again.

But this pitch America hit, the crack of the bat signaling the ball's flight to center field as America ran off for first base.

"Ah!" Italy whimpered, shuffling around nervously as he watched the ball come toward him. "What do I do, what do I do? Germany, he-e-e-elp!" he wailed.

"I'm on the other team, you idiot!" Germany shouted from the dugout. "And it's just a baseball!"

"Waah!" Italy fled from the baseball's path as America stole second base.

"Italy!" France, being the closer of the other outfielders, swooped in to get the ball and threw it back toward the infield. "At least _try _to catch it next time!"

"Where the bloody h*ll were you trying to throw that?" England screamed.

"Hmm? At the pitcher…" France looked away from Italy to find his throw had somehow strayed to foul territory.

"Latvia! Get the ball!" Estonia called.

"Wh-what?" Latvia turned, somehow only now noticing the baseball had landed nearest him. "Ah!" He darted over to the ball as America swooped past his base.

"Throw it here, aru!" China shouted. "Hurry!"

"Wh-what? Oh!" Latvia turned around, apparently forgetting where China was, as he looked around for the catcher.

"Here! _Here_, aru!"

"Ah!" Latvia hurled the ball toward China, but America had already slid onto home base. China sighed, reaching up to catch the ball as America took off his batting helmet and pointed at Japan.

"Ha! How's _that_?"

"Not bad," Japan replied coolly. "But we're just getting started."

A/N: And the game begins! Fufufu... Who do you think will win? (Also, this is a very disorganized game of baseball. o.O;; Lots of normal rules will end up not applying here... But this is crack. Let us not be picky about that kind of stuff, neh?) I love reviews, by the by~ *hint hint*


	3. Coup

A/N: Welcome back, all! Glad to know a couple of people like this fic. :3 And, I had so many author's notes last time that I missed a few things, for one--GO RIGHT AHEAD WITH THE DOUJINSHI. That just sounds awesome. :D Be sure to put it on dA so we can see it, if you go through with it. :) (And NO ONE READ OTAKU NO BAKA'S COMMENTS unless you want a spoiler. ONB, either you are oddly psychic or have a bug in my computer. o.O;; You can keep commenting, of course... Psychic. o.O;;)

"That's safe," Switzerland called once America had settled down and started for his dugout. "One run for Team America…" He looked up at the large scoreboard across the diamond. "I guess I'll just write down the score, since I don't have remote controls for that…"

Suddenly, the scoreboard lights clicked on, and the home team's first inning space blinked from 0 to 1.

"Does that help, Switzerland?" called a voice from the scoreboard as a girl's head peeked out from behind.

"Liechtenstein! What are you doing up there?" Switzerland called, taking off his umpire helmet to get a better look at his sister.

"I wanted to help!"

"W-Well, don't trip or anything!"

"I won't!"

* * *

"I'll bat next," Russia announced with a smile, picking up a batting helmet. He walked over to home plate.

"You forgot to get a bat, commy!" America shouted. "What are you going to hit the ball with, your hands?!"

"No, I'll hit it with this," Russia replied, pulling a pipe out of his coat.

"What the-?! You can't do that!" America, pointing an accusatory finger at Russia, turned toward Switzerland. "There must be some rule against that!"

"You didn't specify that as a rule," Switzerland replied with a shrug. "He can use it if he wants to."

Russia chuckled at the fuming America. "I win," the taller hummed, taking a batting stance.

Japan wound up and threw a pitch that Russia didn't bother to swing at.

"Ball," Switzerland called as China tossed the baseball back to Japan.

Japan looked over Russia for a second before gearing up for another pitch and firing.

There was an odd, high-pitched clang as Russia's pipe hit the ball toward Estonia.

Estonia automatically held up his hands to catch, but faltered. "Um… Maybe I shouldn't," he muttered, watching Russia as he reached first base. Estonia stepped back, watching the baseball bounce at his feet.

"H-Hey! I thought you were playing!" Spain rushed over and picked up the ball as Russia trotted past second base. "Latvia!" Spain called, throwing the ball to third.

"Don't catch that," Russia said with a smile as he approached Latvia's base.

"O-o-o-o-o-o-o-okay…" The trembling Latvia ducked, letting the baseball go over his head.

"Am I the only one playing here?" Spain was about to fetch the ball, but realized before he could get to it, Russia would be on home base.

"Safe," Switzerland said, though the call was obvious.

Japan looked behind him to see the scoreboard now read two runs for America's team.

"I don't think this arrangement is working," the Asian nation muttered, looking around the outfield. He cleared his throat. "Latvia! Italy!" The two looked over at him. "Let's see what happens if you two switch places."

"Okay!"

"A-all right."

* * *

"Looks like a good thing I joined your team after all, hm?" Russia said, sitting on the bench.

America spluttered angrily. "I-You-!"

"Are you all ready yet?" Japan called from the field.

Germany looked around. He walked over to the front of the dugout, putting his hand on a bat. "I guess I'll bat n—"

"I'll bat next!" Romano interrupted loudly, pointedly snatching the bat from Germany's hands and putting on a helmet.

"…All right?" Germany gave him an odd look as Romano stomped over to home plate.

Japan pitched, but Romano just stood.

"Strike," Switzerland called.

Japan pitched another ball, but Romano still made no effort to swing.

"Strike two!"

Japan threw again, but the only thing the ball hit was China's glove.

"Strike three! America's team now has one out," Switzerland announced.

Romano strutted back to the dugout. "Haha! Looks like your team may lose after all!" he laughed, looking at Germany.

"…You do realize that means you lose, too?" Germany responded.

"Jeh!" Romano gasped. "I… I guess that's right…" He slumped over.

"Weirdo…" Germany looked around, but no one seemed particularly eager to bat. "I'll bat now, then."

* * *

"Strike two."

Germany sighed, tapping the ground with his bat before resuming his batting stance.

Japan pitched again with a grunt, and Germany managed to hit the ball toward center field.

Estonia backed up quickly, but he wasn't fast enough, and the baseball sailed past his glove. The ball landed a few feet in front of Latvia, who scuttled over to pick it up but evidently wasn't sure where to throw it.

Lithuania opened his mouth to tell Latvia to throw it to him, but Germany was already past his base before he could say anything.

"Just throw it to me!" Japan called, waving.

"Ah!" Latvia threw it toward the pitcher, who caught it just as Germany got to second base.

"Safe," Switzerland called. "Germany hits a double."

* * *

"All right! I'm, like, going next," Poland announced, putting on a batting helmet. "Ugh. This thing smells gross." He picked up a bat and walked over to home plate. "Don't think I'm going easy," he said, getting into batting stance, "just because _you're_ on his team, Lithuania!"

"I wouldn't expect it," Lithuania replied with a chuckle.

Poland managed to hit the ball on the first pitch, though he hit it significantly higher than farther. Once he had taken off for first base, China surged forward and snagged the ball.

"Out," Switzerland called. "Team America now has two outs." He looked up at the scoreboard, where Liechtenstein was successfully keeping the scoreboard up to date.

* * *

"Um, I guess I could go next," Finland started, "but I'm not very good…"

"I'll bat again," Russia offered.

"No! Definitely not!" America snapped immediately. He paused. "But I'll go again!"

"Are we allowed to do that?" Poland responded. "I, like, thought everyone had to bat once… Or something like that."

"Well, it's not in the rules I said," America declared, "so there's nothing wrong with it!" He grabbed his bat and walked over to home plate.

"America? You're batting again?" Japan asked.

"Yes!"

"If you don't mind me saying… That doesn't seem fair to the other players," Japan said, relaxing his pitching stance.

"Well… Uh…" America paused, tapping the top of his bat on the ground. "Huh, I guess not!" he laughed. "Uh… Who wants to go next, then?"

"I will!" Finland called, padding out of the dugout.

"All right…" America seemed reluctant to give up his position, but eventually ambled back to his dugout.

Japan threw a curveball, and Finland swung and missed.

"Strike."

"Okay, _that_ didn't work," Finland responded, getting back into stance.

"Ball."

Finland swung hard at the next pitch.

"Strike two!"

"Heh, maybe I should've just let America play after all."

Nevertheless, he swung at the next fastball and managed to smack it into the air.

Spain ran forward to try to catch it, but the ball rolled off his fingertips.

"Lithuania!" he called, picking up the baseball and hurling it toward first base. Lithuania had to lean forward, but managed to catch the ball before Finland reached his base.

"Out!" Switzerland shouted. "That's three outs for Team America," he continued. "Switch positions!"

* * *

"Well, _I'll_ be pitcher, obviously," America started. "And—"

"No, I think I'll be pitcher," Russia interrupted with a smile, though he sounded oddly threatening.

"Wh-what?! No! It's my team, so _I _get to be pitcher!" America shouted back.

"Hmm…" Russia stooped over to pick up a baseball. "How about," he suggested, "whoever throws this harder gets to be pitcher?"

"Okay!" America agreed immediately.

Russia took a convincing pitcher's stance and hurled a fastball at the dugout's far wall. There was a loud crack as it crashed through the black-painted bricks. "Your turn," Russia said, handing America another baseball.

America smirked. "Well, I can definitely—"

"Whoever wrecks that wall more pays for it!" Switzerland shouted from behind home plate.

"You-! Are you favoring Russia?!" America yelled back.

"No, I'm favoring my wallet!"

America spluttered. "Well-!" He turned back to Russia. "Fine! You get to be pitcher," he grumbled. "Then, I get first base!" He looked around.

"Uh, I'll be catcher," Germany volunteered.

Since no one else figured out a position in the next few seconds, America took it upon himself to assign the rest of the field.

"Okay! Second base: Poland! Third base: Turkey! Shortstop: Romano! Right field: Finland! Center field: Greece!" America pumped a fist into the air. "Let's go!"

Seven members of the team set out for the field.

"And he forgot about me," Canada muttered. "Of course." He sighed. "I guess I'm left field, then?"

* * *

"I'll bat first," Japan started, picking up a helmet, "if that's all right with everyone."

No one objected, so he grabbed a bat and stepped onto the field.

* * *

"Wait…" America looked over the players stepping out of the dugout. "Where's our center field?"

"Looks like he's totally still asleep," sighed Poland. "Will someone, like, go wake him up?"

"I'll do it!" Turkey offered, happily waving a baseball bat in the air as he snuck over to Greece's sleeping place.

"Uh, Turkey! Let's not wake him that way!" Finland objected, grabbing the top of Turkey's bat before he could use it.

"Aw, why not?"

"Um…" Finland, ignoring Turkey's response, poked at Greece with no response. "Will you wake up if I tell you a funny joke about Turks?"

"H-Hey!" Turkey spluttered.

"So, two Turks walk into a bar…"

"I don't think that's going to work, Finland," sighed Germany.

"Greece, wake _up_!" America shouted, still getting no response.

"…Is something wrong over there?" Japan said from the field.

"Yeah! Greece won't wake up!" America called back.

"Greece!" Japan responded. "Please get up so we can continue our game!"

"Huh? Oh, sorry, Japan," Greece yawned, getting off the bench.

The rest of America's team baffled over Greece's sudden awakening as they took their positions.

* * *

"Ball," Switzerland called as Germany tossed the ball back to Russia.

"Are you kidding me?!" America responded. "You do all this to be pitcher, and you _suck _at it!"

Russia hurled the ball again, and Japan swung.

"Strike."

The pitcher threw another one, and Japan missed again.

"Strike two!"

"I don't think I suck at this," Russia said, turning to America, who was still seething as the smiling Russia turned back toward the batter.

But Japan hit the baseball this time, sending it out toward the fence.

Canada ran over quick as he could, but the ball had already sailed over the back fence.

"Home run!" Switzerland called. "Team Japan now has one run!"

"Yeah, great job!" America screamed sarcastically. "Giving up a home run means you're an _excellent _pitcher!"

Russia just smiled back, the eerily dark aura he exuded somehow enough to shut America up.

A/N: Yeah, not much of a stopping place, but I have written quite a bit more, and I had no idea where to stop it, so the chapter ends here. Review, please? :)


	4. And That's Just the First Inning

A/N: lol, France. XD Wow. Unexpectedly quick update. Just had a sudden surge of writing...ness. Yeah. XD Enjoy~

"So, who bats next?" England started, looking around the dugout.

"I will!" Italy volunteered. He ran over to home plate, only stopping to snatch a bat.

* * *

"Italy!" Germany hissed. "What are you doing? Go get a batting helmet on!"

"B-But I don't want to…"

"You idiot! Do you want to get killed by a stray pitch?"

"I could get killed?" Italy squeaked.

"If you don't put the helmet on!"

"Wah!" Italy cried. "I d-don't want to die!" He looked around. "Does anyone have a white handkerchief?"

"Just put a helmet on!" Germany roared.

"I don't want to!"

Apparently deciding Italy was in some way prepared to hit, Russia fired off a pitch. Italy ran away wailing as the baseball hit Germany's glove.

"What was that?" Germany shouted. "He obviously wasn't ready!"

"Oh, he wasn't?" Russia replied. "Sorry."

* * *

"Strike three," Switzerland sighed as Italy jumped back from the ball yet again. "One out for Team Japan."

"Well," England grumbled as Italy walked back to the dugout, "you batting wasn't that great an idea, after all."

"I bet _you_ couldn't do any better," France jeered.

"Please," England scoffed. "Even _you _could hit better than that."

"What's that supposed to mean?" France shot back.

"If you can't figure _that_ one out, you're even stupider than I thought."

France gave a start before calming down with a smirk. "Well, at least _I_ don't have eyebrows wide enough to land a plane on!"

"Eh? Well, at least _my _greatest leader was taller than a bloody 10-year-old!"

"At least _I_—" France stopped himself as Japan pushed him and France away from each other.

"It's very rude to keep America's team waiting," Japan said. "Now, will one of you please step up to bat, or do I need to fetch someone else?"

"I'll do it," England grunted, grabbing a batting helmet and baseball bat. "Pretty Boy over here's probably too scared of helmet hair to bat, anyway."

"I'm immune to that," France scoffed. "I'll have you know I've never gotten helmet hair in my life!"

"Have you ever worn a helmet in your life?"

"Th-that's beside the point!"

* * *

"Ball two," Switzerland called as England resumed a batting stance.

Russia threw the ball a third time, and England swung again, batting the baseball toward the shortstop.

"I've got it!" Romano shouted, raising his hand and watching the ball as it came his way. He stretched his arm high enough to catch the baseball, but apparently didn't calculate its direction well enough—the ball flew left of his hand. "Eh?" He was ostensibly stunned, making no motion to turn around and go after the ball.

Turkey, however, ran after it, unable to catch it but plucking it off the ground quickly. He looked over to England, who had almost made it to second base.

"Russia!" Turkey called, tossing the ball.

There was a small whap as the baseball met the leather on Russia's glove.

"England did not reach second base in time!" Switzerland called. "He hits a single!"

* * *

"A single's the best you can do?" France laughed from the dugout.

"I'd like to see you do better!" England scoffed.

"Fine; that'll be easy!" France grabbed a bat and helmet and jogged over to home plate.

* * *

"Foul," Switzerland sighed a fifth time as Germany tossed the ball back to Russia.

"Yes, you're doing _much _better than me!" England called sarcastically.

"Shut up!" France cleared his throat and resumed his batting stance. Russia threw another pitch, which France once again lobbed far over the left foul line.

"Foul."

"Seventh time's the charm," France mumbled, getting back into position.

Russia hurled the baseball again, and France hit again, finally able to steer the ball to fair territory.

"Ah! I've got it!" Canada said, stepping forward and craning his neck to see the ball.

"Wait, do we have anyone in left field?" Germany started, moving a bit to see past Romano.

"I don't think so!" Turkey exclaimed, looking behind him.

"I'm right here!" Canada shouted at his teammates. He shook his head and looked back up to relocate the baseball, but found his brief respite had given it enough time to soar past his head. He ran back, but couldn't manage to catch the ball.

"Russia!" he called, though he wasn't certain the nation noticed him, as he threw the ball toward second base.

"Hey, commy!" America said, stepping back as France passed in front of him. "Behind you!"

"Hm?" Russia turned around to see the baseball whirling toward him. He had to step forward to catch it, but he was back on his mound before France got to the next base.

"France did not reach second base in time; he hits a single. England did not reach third base in time; he goes back to second!" Switzerland called.

England and France backtracked as Russia boredly tossed the ball up into the air.

* * *

"Who bats next, then?" Japan started, looking around his team.

The Baltic nations were understandably not volunteering, so China stepped up.

"I'll go, aru," he said, picking up a bat and helmet.

* * *

"Ha-ah!" China grunted, hitting the ball toward the shortstop.

"I've definitely got it this time!" Romano announced, backing up a few steps. "Ah!" He somehow wasn't far enough back, and the baseball went over his fingertips.

Turkey had realized this in time, however; he managed to run behind Romano and catch the ball. He tossed the baseball back to Russia.

"Out!" Switzerland called. "That's two outs for Team Japan. France did not reach second base in time; he goes back to first. England is safe and may stay on third base."

The runners adjusted as a grumbling China walked back to the dugout.

"Hey, Turkey, Romano!" America called. "How about you guys switch positions?"

"All right."

"I'm doing a perfectly fine job as shortstop!" Romano objected.

"No, you're not!" America replied. "Switch with him."

The snubbed Romano trudged over to third base as Turkey assumed the shortstop's position.

* * *

"I guess I'll bat next, then," Spain said, seeing the rest of his teammates had either already batted or were obviously not looking forward to it.

"Go ahead," Japan sanctioned as Spain slapped on a batting helmet.

* * *

"Strike," Switzerland called at the first pitch.

Spain hit the next ball, but it went over the foul line.

"Foul."

But Russia's third pitch was finally batted well, flying toward center field.

"Greece," Poland started, watching the ball fly far over his head, "are you, like, getting that one?" He turned around for an answer, but found that Greece had somehow fallen back asleep.

"Hey! Ugh," Poland sighed as France passed his base. "Someone totally needs to go get that."

"Why don't _you _get it?" Germany shouted. "You're the closest!"

"But that's in the outfield. I'm an infielder. Duh," Poland scoffed.

"That's not how the game works!" Germany yelled back as England trotted past his base.

"Safe. Team Japan now has two runs!"

"Just get the stupid ball!" Germany shouted at Poland.

"Fine." Poland turned around, but couldn't locate the baseball. "Where'd it go? Finland, did you get it?" he asked as Spain stole second.

"No!" Finland called back.

Poland humphed, turning back to the basepath to watch France run past third base.

"Germany!" Canada yelled, hurling the baseball, which he had recovered without anyone's notice, toward home plate.

Germany, of course, hadn't heard Canada, but still jumped up to catch the ball when he realized it was coming his way.

"Not safe!" Switzerland called, Germany having caught the baseball just before France had reached home base.

"Ah!" France jumped back, Germany trying to tag him out but failing. France fled back toward third base, forcing Spain to backtrack as well.

"Romano!" Germany grunted, throwing the ball at the third baseman.

Romano jumped back to catch it, but Germany had thrown too hard; France was safely on third by the time Romano had run far enough to catch the baseball.

"See, brother?" Romano yelled to Italy's dugout. "The potato-freak doesn't even know how to play baseball!"

"What are you talking about? I just threw it a little too far."

"Sure," Romano scoffed. "Potato-freak."

"Right…"

* * *

"Who wants to bat next?" Japan started, looking around the three countries that had yet to hit the ball. None of them responded.

"Well, _someone_ needs to bat…" he muttered.

"Uh, I-I'll t-try," Latvia mumbled, sounding very unsure.

"Good; thank you," Japan replied, handing him a bat and helmet.

* * *

Latvia, still shaking like a leaf, stepped up to home plate.

"Are you going to hit the ball, Latvia?" Russia asked with a smile, tossing said ball up and down.

"W-Well, y-yeah, th-that's kind of the p-point of the game, isn't it?"

"Latvia!" whisper-shrieked Lithuania from the dugout. "What are you _doing_?"

Russia, ignoring Lithuania's outburst, continued. "Are you _sure_?" he asked, his smile, though not moving, somehow becoming much creepier.

"N-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-n-no!" Latvia squeaked. "Umm, S-S-S-S-Switzerland? C-c-c-c-can I j-j-j-just s-s-s-s-s-s-surrender my t-t-t-t-t-turn?"

"It's not against the rules," Switzerland replied with a shrug. "Do you want to do that, and just take an out?"

"Y-y-y-y-y-y-y-yes…"

"Okay. That's three outs for Team Japan! End of inning!" Switzerland called.

* * *

"So, it's a tie now?" Japan said to himself. "That's…" He trailed off at the sudden raucous laughter from behind him. "What are you…?"

The giddy laughter was coming from England, who was the first to spot France taking his helmet off.

"Wh-what?" France responded, instinctively putting a hand to his hair.

England tried to say something in reply, but was laughing too hard to put a coherent sentence together.

"Where's my mirror?" France shrieked, shuffling his hands through his pockets frantically until he'd located it. He shakily held it up to his head. "Aah!" he screamed. "My hair! My beautiful, silky hair!"

England's face had turned red from his laughing fit, while several of his teammates had started to chuckle as well.

"I thought you said you were immune to helmet hair," Spain said, unable to keep himself from snickering.

"Where's my comb?"

* * *

"Tied 2-2, huh?" America remarked, looking up at the scoreboard. "I bet," he continued, "we'd be winning if _I were the pitcher_!" He glared at Russia.

"And I bet we'd be losing if _I_ _weren't _the pitcher," Russia replied with a smile.

America huffed, looking back at the rest of his team. "So, who hasn't batted yet?" he started, looking around. "Turkey, do you want to go?"

"Hm? Um," Turkey replied slowly, "how about we let Greece go first?"

"Huh? Okay," America responded. "…Where is he?"

"Is he, like, still in the outfield?" Poland asked, looking over where Japan's team was filling defensive positions.

"I guess so. Hey! Latvia!" shouted America, waving at the center fielder, who flinched. "Is Greece still back there?"

"U-um," Latvia replied, looking over the outfield, "y-yeah!"

"Greece!" Japan barked, assuming he would still be the only one able to wake up his friend. "You're needed in your team's dugout!"

"Oh, right," Greece yawned, standing up stiffly. "Sorry." He padded over to America's dugout.

"Do you want to bat next?" America offered, holding up a baseball bat.

"Sure," Greece replied, still yawning a bit as he grabbed a batting helmet.

"All right," Switzerland said, re-securing his umpire helmet as Greece stepped up to home plate, "second inning! Play ball!"

A/N: Aw, Napoleon, you know we still love you. XD

What motive could Turkey possibly have for making Greece go first...? :o

Review, please? *puppy dog eyes*


	5. Heroes, Sidekicks, Villains, & Henchmen

"Strike three," Switzerland said after Greece made a third pathetic, wobbling swing at the ball. "Team America now has one out."

Greece loped back over to the dugout and set his bat near the others with a clunk.

"What was _that_?" Turkey laughed. "I bet your precious little fleabags could do better than that!"

"Maybe," Greece confessed. "Bet it's still better than you could do, though," he finished nonchalantly, taking a seat on the bench.

"Oh, you _wish_!" Turkey scoffed, grabbing a bat and helmet. He stepped up to home plate before pausing and looking back at the dugout.

"Now," he said, holding up the bat, "I'm supposed to hit the ball with this thing, right?"

"Well, duh!" America replied confusedly. "What, have you never played before?"

"Haven't heard of the game before today!"

America spluttered. "Wh-wha-a-a-at?" He looked on speechlessly as Turkey got into an awkward batting stance.

"Strike!" Switzerland called as Turkey failed to swing the first time.

"Wait," Turkey started, looking over at the umpire as China threw the ball back, "isn't it a ball if I don't swing?"

"No…"

Turkey frowned and turned back to the pitcher, who threw another one. The Anatolian nation swung hard, but was about five seconds too late.

"Strike two!"

Turkey cleared his throat and resumed his off-balance stance.

Japan threw a third pitch, but Turkey still swung far too late.

"Strike three!" Switzerland announced. "That's two outs for Team America!"

"Why did you join the team if you didn't even know what we were doing?" America shouted at Turkey, who arrived in the dugout and put up his helmet.

"To show him up," Turkey replied, pointing a thumb at Greece, who was now back asleep and using the whole bench for a mattress.

"Well, you don't seem to be doing a very good job of it, do you?"

Turkey shrugged. "I'll get the hang of it."

"Sure. And now we have two outs to start the inning," America grumbled, looking around the dugout. "Well, at least it's finally my turn again!" He grabbed a baseball bat.

"Um, America, it's actually—"

"But, then…" America interrupted, unaware someone else was talking, "that means, both teams tied, one more out to end the inning, and only one hero to win the game!" He saluted. "And that's me!"

"America, it's not your—"

"Only the most awesome of heroes," America continued excitedly, "could rescue us from this desperate situation! And—"

"_I haven't batted yet!_" Canada finally screamed.

"Huh?" America turned around to see his brother fuming in the corner of the dugout. "Oh! Sorry, I forgot you were on the team!" He bit his lip. "So… Do you… _really_ want to bat, or…?"

"Yes. I want to bat," Canada replied edgily, putting on a helmet.

"Uh, here, you can use this one," America offered, swinging up the baseball bat he had in his hand, but accidentally too hard, as its tip whipped up to hit the bill of his brother's baseball helmet, knocking it hard enough into the dugout ceiling to make a small crater.

"Ah! Sorry!" America chuckled. He caught the helmet when it fell back to earth and handed it back to Canada.

"Uh, n-no, _I'm_ s-sorry," Canada mumbled, shaking a little bit as he imagined what would have happened had his brother accidentally whacked his head. "I-I-I sh-sh-shouldn't have sn-snapped at you l-like th-that." He nervously took the bat and helmet and darted over to home base.

* * *

"Foul."

China darted over to pick up the baseball, which hadn't flown very far, and lobbed it back toward Japan.

"Hah!" Japan grunted, firing off a second pitch, which Canada once again weakly hit over the foul line.

"Foul."

"Oh," America moaned from the dugout, "how am I supposed to be the hero if I don't even get to bat?" He looked at his brother for a second before an idea clicked in his head.

"Hey! Canada!" he called, before Japan could throw the next pitch. Canada turned to face America, who continued. "Hit it like a slapshot!"

"What?" Canada responded faintly.

"Pretend the ball is a hockey puck, and act like you're going for a slapshot!" America yelled.

"Um, okay… That sounds like a good idea…" Canada turned back to bat, and Japan pitched another fastball.

This time, Canada flung his bat hard and quick, launching the baseball far into left field.

"I've got it!" France called, running back fast as he could, the ball soaring over his head and landing just short of the back fence. He snatched the baseball off the ground and hurled it, aiming for the second baseman—Canada was moments away from Estonia's base—but somehow actually throwing it to the left of third.

As the ball made its way across the diamond, Canada risked passing second base.

"Eh?" Italy walked a few steps away from his plate and picked up the ball. "Why did you throw it to me?"

Canada neared third base as Italy stood pondering.

"Italy!" Japan shouted. "Get back on your base, hurry!"

"Huh?" Italy looked over at his base, just a foot or so away from Canada's current position. "Oh!" Italy scampered over to his base just as Canada slid onto it.

Switzerland peered over at the base, watching the miniature dust cloud settle. "Safe!" he called. "Canada hits a triple!"

* * *

"That was awesome!" America yelled to his brother, who waved meekly in reply. "And now_ I_ get to bat!" America picked up a helmet and baseball bat and proceeded to home plate.

"Now, you _do _realize you're paying for the damage to the dugout ceiling, right?" Switzerland confirmed as America took a batting stance.

"Yeah…" America sighed. "I thought so."

Japan wound up for a pitch.

"Hey, batter, batter, _swing_!"

America instinctively swiped his bat around in sync with the command, but missed the ball by a mile.

"Who did that?" He turned, facing his dugout, to see Russia having a giggle fit. "You're on my team!" America yelled. "Why are you trying to mess me up?"

"I can't believe he actually fell for that…" Germany said to himself.

"Strike," Switzerland confirmed as Japan prepared to fire off another pitch.

"Stupid commy," America grumbled. "Even when he's on my team, he's trying to—Oh!" He barely realized the baseball was coming in time to hit it, but smacked it hard—hard enough to reduce his bat to a cluster of long splinters. He watched as the ball soared far out of any outfielder's reach.

"Haha! I bet Tony's ex-girlfriend could catch that one!" he laughed as Canada trotted over to home plate.

"…Definitely a home run," Switzerland said slowly. "Good for two runs. Then, that's two runs this inning for Team America." He turned toward America. "You're paying for that bat, too."

"I know," America replied with a sigh. "Ehehe, that's why I didn't hit it very hard the first time…"

"Yeah. Try not to do it again."

"Right…"

* * *

"And you still can't even throw the bloody ball straight," scoffed England.

"Well, it's better than _you've_ done," France countered.

"Well, maybe I could do a decent job if I ever _got _the bloody thing, _helmet hair_."

France self-consciously put a hand to the top of his hair, which, despite an exorbitant amount of brushing, was still awkwardly matted.

"W-Well, I—!"

"France!" Japan's call interrupted from the pitcher's mound. "I believe you may do a better job if you switch to right field!"

"What? Why?" France responded.

"Since your throws list to the left, in right field, you'll at least have a better chance at your tosses being in fair territory," Japan replied.

"But I'll hardly get to play in right field!" France objected.

"You heard him," England hummed, walking past France. "Better hurry to your new post, helmet hair."

* * *

"My turn," Russia announced, retrieving his pipe from his coat and walking over to home base.

Japan wound up and pitched the ball, and Russia swung and missed.

"Strike."

Russia repositioned the pipe in his hands as China threw the ball back to the pitcher.

The second time Japan threw, Russia smacked the baseball at an awkward angle, sending it to first base.

Lithuania backed up, unsure of whether he wanted to catch the ball or not. "Oh," he whimpered, "this is a really bad idea…" He sighed, shaking his head as he walked away and let the ball land a few feet behind his base.

France rushed over—he'd been moping fairly close to Lithuania—and picked up the baseball as Russia passed first base. France wound up to throw to Estonia, but realized the Baltic wasn't going to risk catching it.

Russia now found himself racing France to second base. The taller nation had a head start, but France was running like a bad hairdresser was after him.

In the end, Russia set foot on second base first. He didn't risk booking it to third with France ready to tag him out.

"Safe," Switzerland called. "Russia hits a double."

* * *

"Who hits next, then?" America started, looking around the dugout. "It should be someone good so we don't waste the filthy communist's double…"

"Well, Germany's the only one who didn't get out last time." Finland suggested, "Maybe he should bat."

"I can bat better than him!" Romano exclaimed.

"You totally didn't even bat last time!" Poland scoffed. "You just stood there."

"But if I actually try…" Romano trailed off. "But then the potato-freak's team would win…" He muttered something to himself and frustratedly kicked the dugout wall.

"Yeah… You go ahead and bat, then," America instructed, looking over at Germany, who grunted in response and picked up a bat.

* * *

"Strike," Switzerland said as Germany resumed his stance.

Germany hit the second ball Japan threw, sending it toward the shortstop.

Spain backed up a few steps and managed to catch the ball, but he dropped it.

Germany was almost to first base, and Russia had started for third despite his proximity to the shortstop.

Spain was seconds away from tagging Russia when the taller nation spoke up.

"Estonia, stop him."

"Wh-wha-at?" The second baseman looked over at Russia and trembled.

"You heard me," Russia hummed.

"U-uh, Spain! Wait!" Estonia called reluctantly, darting over and grabbing Spain's forearm before the Iberian nation could tag Russia.

"Hey, I could've tagged him!" Spain huffed, staring after Russia, who had made it to third base. "Oh! Germany!" Spain suddenly remembered, looking over to see Germany dangerously close to second.

Spain broke out of Estonia's grasp and sped over to second base just as Germany slid into it.

There was a pause as Switzerland assessed the situation.

"Out!" he called. "Team America now has three outs! Switch positions!"

The baserunners started back to America's dugout, but not without Russia giving Estonia a look that made the Baltic nation shudder.

* * *

"So, you two are the only ones that haven't batted yet, correct?" Japan asked, looking at Lithuania and Estonia, who nodded.

"But… do we really need to?" Lithuania muttered, looking at Russia, who was already on the pitcher's mound.

"You both agreed to play on my team," Japan reminded them, "so I won't allow special treatment for you. Now, who wants to go first?"

Neither volunteered, and Japan sighed in response.

"All right, then. Lithuania, you bat first," he said, noting Estonia hadn't recovered much from the last play.

"Okay," Lithuania sighed, putting on a batting helmet.

* * *

"So, are _you _going to hit the ball?" Russia asked with a smile.

"No," Lithuania moaned. "Can I go ahead and surrender my turn?"

"If you really want to," Switzerland replied.

"I will," sighed Lithuania, taking his helmet back off.

"All right. That's one out for Team Japan!"

* * *

"…You do realize if I go, I'm surrendering my turn, too?" Estonia started.

"I know," Japan sighed. "But we did already make America conform to the everyone-plays-once rule, and it ended up costing him an out as well…" He shook his head. "Go ahead and say it."

"Okay." Estonia turned toward the umpire. "I'm surrendering my turn, too!"

"All right… That's two outs for Team Japan, then."

"My turn," Japan announced, grabbing a bat.

* * *

"Ball," Switzerland called as Germany tossed the baseball back to Russia.

Japan resumed his stance, smacking the next pitch hard and taking off for first.

But after a few seconds, Switzerland declared, "Home run!", and Japan jogged back toward the dugout.

"You're a _horrible _pitcher!" America screamed at Russia. "It's only the second inning, and you've already given up two _home runs_!"

"And you don't think you would have given up any?" Russia asked.

"No! Definitely not!" America growled. "If you'd just let me pitch, you'd know why!"

"No, I'm fine," Russia hummed, making America splutter angrily again.

* * *

"Who would like to bat next, then?" Japan started, looking around the dugout.

"I'll go," England offered, picking up a bat.

* * *

"Strike." Germany tossed the ball back as England tapped his bat on the ground.

He resumed his stance in time for Russia's next pitch, which he hit toward third base.

England booked it to first while Romano backed up, actually managing to put his glove in the right spot to catch the ball.

Unfortunately, it still slipped from his grasp.

Though Romano didn't manage to seize the baseball before it hit the ground, he picked it up quickly, chucking it over to America as England hurried to reach first base.

"Out!" Switzerland shouted as the ball hit America's glove. "That's three outs for Team Japan! End of inning!"

* * *

"We're trailing by one, then," Japan noted, looking up at the score: 4-3. "We'll just have to try and make it up—" He was cut off by a loud gurgling.

"Japan! I'm hungry," Italy announced as the others in the dugout turned to stare at him.

"Me, too, aru," added China. "How about we take a break? I'll make everyone lunch," he offered.

"That sounds good," Japan replied with a nod. "I'll go see if it's all right with America's team."

* * *

"Good idea!" America exclaimed. "I _am _pretty hungry, now that I think about it. Hey! Switzerland!" he called, turning to the umpire.

"What's up?"

"We're all going to break for lunch!"

"Ah! All right," Switzerland replied, taking off his umpire helmet. "I have a big restaurant over by right field. Let's head there."

"But _I _wanted to cook something, aru," China objected.

"Oh, you can. Don't think that'll let you skip the bill, though," Switzerland responded, the other players already following him.

"Fine," China muttered, jogging after the other nations.

A/N: Aha, not much of a stopping point, but I needed to cut off the chapter here... (Can anyone guess all the players the chapter title refers to? :D) Oh, and when I mentioned Tony's ex-girlfriend, I meant the one who still lives in space, not the one that hides in France's house and steals his beauty products. In case you were wondering.

Please review!


	6. Peanuts & Cracker Jacks

**A/N:** Well, all of the exchange rates were current when I got them, and I fudged the numbers a little, but I don't think the money amounts are that big a deal, anyway... :P

Saw nothing in the ratings about alcohol references... So as a warning, there is a mention of alchohol...

I was going to have this chapter be only the lunch break, but I couldn't come up with enough interesting stuff, so I added some of the next inning...

* * *

"6.95 for a hot dog?" America exclaimed. "What kind of price is _that_?" He paused, looking at the menu harder. "Oh, that's in your money, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Switzerland replied. "In the US, that's about six dollars."

"Still, six bucks for a hot dog?"

"…This _is _a baseball stadium, you know."

"That's true…" America sighed. "If it's that much, I guess I'll just get a couple… I'll take five. And… how much for a Coke?"

"3.50… That's 3.01977 USD," Switzerland said, hardly even pausing to calculate the conversion, "but I'll be a good sport and charge you $3."

"Okay…"

"How much to make my own food, aru?" China sighed, still irritated he had to pay.

"Depends on what you want to make. I only have ingredients for the things on the menu."

China sighed. "You know, I have a restaurant just half a mile from this stadium…" He trailed off hopefully.

"I'll let you go for a 10.00 fee… That's about 59 Yuan."

"Fine, aru," China replied eagerly, though he was annoyed he still had to pay. He handed Switzerland the cash and started for the door.

"Hold on!" Switzerland called, making China stop in his tracks.

"What?" China grumbled.

"You'll need an escort so I know you won't run off without paying for the game." Switzerland turned to his left. "Hey! Austria!"

The nations watched as Austria jogged into view.

"Since when is Austria working for you?" gaped Spain.

"Let's just say it's a long story and involves something similar to blackmail," Switzerland replied dismissively. He turned back toward Austria. "Go escort China to his restaurant and back. If you don't come back… You know what'll happen."

Austria nodded quickly and followed China, who was making his way to the stadium doors.

"All right, then," Switzerland started, turning back toward the other countries, "what do the rest of you want to eat?"

* * *

"You want to cook, huh?" Switzerland sighed. "I'll charge for the ingredients, and then, for you, another £30."

"What?" England spluttered. "That's outrageous!"

"Are you kidding me?" Switzerland scoffed. "I've seen you cook before. With all the smells I'll have to clean up, not to mention the smoke damage I'll have to fix, £30 is a _steal_!"

"Well, fine," England muttered, looking up at the menu crossly. "I'll just order a sandwich or something."

* * *

"Um, can I have something, too?" Liechtenstein requested quietly.

"Of course you can!" Switzerland replied. "I only have the stuff on the menu back here, though…"

"Oh, that's okay," Liechtenstein said with a smile. "Um… Is it all right to have a pretzel? With cheese?"

"Yeah, sure."

"And that's… 5.50?"

"Eh? N-No! You don't need to pay for it!"

"Are you sure?"

"Of course!" Switzerland tried to think of an excuse for her not to pay. "I mean, you _are _helping with the scoreboard and all…"

"Oh, okay!" Liechtenstein waited patiently as her brother got her food.

* * *

"For _one _slice of pizza?" Romano asked exasperatedly.

"Yes. It's a big slice, though."

"Argh!" Romano grumbled, fishing out some cash, "You're making me pay way too much!"

Switzerland shrugged. "Your choice whether you want to eat or not. I'm not making you buy anything."

* * *

Germany walked over to the table where Italy was sitting. "How did you get pasta?" the blonde started, setting his beer and bratwurst on the table. "I didn't see that on the menu."

"I brought it with me," Italy hummed in reply.

"…Do you just bring pasta wherever you go?"

"Yup!"

* * *

"Ah, Lithuania!" Russia started. Lithuania turned toward him uneasily. "Would you mind buying me something? I only had enough money with me to get the glove."

"Um…" Lithuania sighed. "I-I guess… What do you want?"

"Are you, like, picking on him _again_?" came an angry voice. "Jeez, Russia, you'd _totally_ have to be an idiot not to bring enough money to a baseball game."

"Well, I didn't know," Russia defended with a smile, "that I was going to end up in a baseball game, pony boy."

* * *

"Hey! Potato-freak!"

Germany sighed, turning around.

"What are you thinking, trying to eat with my brother?" Romano asked angrily. "Italy! Come on, let's move over there," he said, nodding toward a far, empty table.

"But I want to eat with Germany," Italy objected.

"No, you don't!"

"But he's really not a bad person…"

Germany sighed as the two continued their perpetual argument.

* * *

"…and a Dr. Pepper, I guess…"

" 'Kay. That's—" Switzerland pushed a few buttons on the cash register—"Eight dollars even." Switzerland scrutinized the cash that was given to him, then looked back up at the customer.

"Oh, it's you, Canada. Sorry, I thought you were your brother…" Switzerland pushed the money back as Canada sighed.

"That's all right… It happens… _all _the time…"

"In Canadian dollars, that'll be… 9.50."

* * *

"…capital will _totally_ become Warsaw!"

"Well, I…"

Lithuania sighed as Russia and Poland continued their pointless argument.

"I wonder if this means I get out of buying him lunch… Probably not…" Lithuania sighed. "If push comes to shove, Poland probably won't back me up…" The brunette muttered something under his breath and walked up to the counter.

* * *

"So that's seriously the first hot dog with the works you've had?" America asked bewilderedly, mouth still full. "Ever?"

"That's right…" Japan crumpled up his napkin and looked around for a trashcan.

"You're such a hermit! You _definitely _need to get out more."

"I suppose so…"

* * *

"Done!" Greece and Turkey called out simultaneously. They glared at each other.

"I finished my meal first!"

"No, I did!"

"Well," Turkey started, "if we both finished at the same time, I win since my meal was bigger."

"It was not!"

"I had two more French fries than you!"

"Oh, like you bothered to count them!"

"Just because I wasn't staring at my tray for five minutes doesn't mean I didn't get the chance to count them."

"You're just making crap up now, liar!"

"Who are you calling a liar, kitty boy?"

"Who are _you_ calling kitty boy, Zorro-wannabe?"

"Who are _you _calling…"

* * *

"I'm back, aru," China called, running inside the stadium with Austria right behind him.

"Good… Is everyone finished with lunch, then?" Switzerland asked, his hand hovering over the restaurant's light switch.

Everyone replied yes or nodded, and Switzerland turned the light off.

"Shall we get back to the game?" he proposed.

"Yes! Let's go!" America shouted, taking off for the field.

* * *

"Well, who wants to bat first, then?" America started, tapping a baseball bat on the ground.

"I'll go," Romano volunteered, picking up a helmet.

America handed him the bat unconfidently.

* * *

"Third inning," Switzerland said. "Play ball!"

Japan didn't hesitate to fire off the first pitch, which Romano decided to actually swing at this time.

"Strike."

China passed the ball back, and Romano adjusted his position, swinging at the next pitch.

"Strike two!"

Romano swung hard again, but failed to hit Japan's screwball.

"Strike three!" Switzerland called. "Team America now has one out for the inning."

"It's okay, brother!" Italy called from Japan's dugout. "I'm sure you'll get it next time!"

"Don't patronize me!" Romano snapped, stomping back over to America's dugout.

* * *

"Well, _that _didn't work," America noted as Romano grumpily sat on the end of the bench. "Uh… Who else can play…?" He sighed. "Can I just go again?"

"I don't think Japan would like that," replied Turkey.

"Yeah, I guess so… All right, then…" America looked around the dugout. "Poland, you go!"

" 'Kay."

* * *

"Strike."

Poland huffed and adjusted his grip on the bat.

Japan pitched again, and Poland smacked the ball toward second base.

Estonia jumped up to catch the baseball, but couldn't reach it. "Latvia! Can you get it?" Estonia turned around, but Latvia didn't seem to know where the ball had gone.

Poland had already passed first base by the time Latvia picked up the baseball.

"So… Who do I throw it to…?"

"Over here!" Estonia called, waving his glove in the air.

"Ah! Okay!" Though Latvia quickly lobbed the ball over toward second base, Estonia still had to run over a few steps to catch it. He hopped back over to the base, but Poland had already slid on.

"Safe! Poland hits a double."

Japan muttered something and looked toward his teammates. "China," he started, turning to home plate, "are any of their players left-handed?"

"No, doesn't look like it, aru," China replied.

"All right, then…" Japan turned back toward the outfield. "Latvia!"

"Wh-what?" Latvia asked, flinching and looking toward the pitcher.

"I think you should try taking right field," Japan suggested. "Switch with France."

Latvia started over hesitantly as France eagerly hopped over to center field.

"Oh, bloody h*ll, no!" England shouted. "That frog is_ not_ taking a position next to me!"

"Oh, that's right," Japan muttered. "Um, France! Try and switch with… Lithuania," he called.

"What? Why me?" Lithuania started.

"Oh, don't be a baby," Poland replied. "Just, like, go with it."

"Right," Lithuania sighed.

"So, Latvia at right field, Lithuania at center field, and France at first base. Let's see how this works out," Japan concluded, turning back toward the catcher.

* * *

"Well, who wants to go next, then?" America asked, looking around the dugout. "Who's left, anyway?"

"Finland, Turkey, and Greece," Germany replied.

"And me," Canada added weakly, though no one seemed to notice.

"Uh…" America paused, scrutinizing Greece, who was sleeping and taking up the whole dugout bench to do it, and Turkey, who looked regretful for not having a feather and whipped cream handy. "Finland, you go, then."

"Okay!"

* * *

"Foul."

Japan wound up for another pitch as Finland resumed his stance. The blonde hit the baseball nicely this time, launching it toward the shortstop.

Spain ran toward the fence to snag the ball, but couldn't get back far enough to catch it. He did pick it up, though, and threw it toward France as Finland rushed for first base.

"Safe!" Switzerland called, France's catching the ball just shy of Finland's touching base.

France looked over toward Poland, who was still running toward home base.

"France! Throw it over here, aru! Hurry!" China called, motioning with his glove.

"Ah!" France complied, hurling the ball as Poland slid over to home.

"Safe! Team America has one run for the inning," the umpire announced as France's throw bounced past the third baseman.

"…I don't think I want to keep you on first base," Japan sighed as Italy hopped over to the baseball. "But I'd rather not eject Latvia from right field… And you _are_ a competent catcher…" He muttered something to himself. "I really would like to assign you to center field, but…" He looked over at England.

"Oh, just go ahead," France laughed, already walking away from first base. "I'm sure he won't mind _that _much."

"Um…" Japan seemed like he was about to object, but the competition got the better of him, and he let France go.

* * *

"Are you two really all that's left?" America sighed, looking at Greece and Turkey.

"I guess so," Turkey shrugged.

"Well, I'm still here… And I haven't batted this round," Canada started.

"Oh! Yes!" America exclaimed, suddenly noticing his brother. "All right! Go hit another triple, and we'll be good!"

"Um, I'll try," Canada replied with a smile, picking up a bat and helmet.

* * *

"Strike," Switzerland called.

Canada corrected his batting stance and smacked Japan's next pitch far into left field.

England sprinted backward, but the baseball skirted off the top of the fence, sailing out of the diamond.

"Home run!" Switzerland called. "That's three runs this inning for Team America," he finished.

The scoreboard flickered to show the new score as Canada and Finland trotted back to the dugout.

"Awesome!" America exclaimed, holding a hand up for a high-five. Canada complied, smacking his brother's hand as he and Finland settled around the edges of the dugout.

"Well," America sighed, looking over at Turkey and Greece, "one of you two go, I guess."

* * *

"Strike three," Switzerland announced after Greece apathetically missed the ball once again. "Two outs for Team America."

* * *

Turkey swung hard, but still missed the baseball by a mile.

"Strike three!" Switzerland called. "Three outs for Team America; switch positions!"

Turkey padded back to the dugout to put the bat and helmet up.

"And you _still _suck at this," Greece commented, walking past him.

"Well, _you're_ not doing any better!" Turkey snapped back.

"Yeah, but _I'm_ not trying."

Turkey stared back at his neighbor. "_What_?"

"You think I'm really going to try and win a match against Japan?" Greece responded, putting his glove on and ambling toward the outfield. "You're even stupider than I thought."

Turkey spluttered. "Well, at least _I_ have better things to do than dig around in the dirt all day."

"At least _I_ don't look I'm pretending to be the Phantom of the Opera," Greece replied. "One who needs a shave, at that," he added, flicking the bottom of Turkey's chin.

"You're just jealous you can't grow facial hair!" Turkey snapped.

"Yeah, _sure_," Greece responded. "I—"

"Hey! You two!" America, on first base, interrupted. "Are you ready to play ball yet?"

"Sorry! Coming!" Turkey called back. He shot one last glare at Greece before the both of them took their positions.

**A/N:** Sorry, Turkey. It's just too easy to make mask jokes. xD

Please review~!


	7. Notice

**A/N:** Hey, guys. I just decided to post this as a chapter so you would all know: This story is now on hiatus.

I'm thinking seriously of cancelling it... Which I honestly think I will do if I don't get a decent amount of people telling me not to.

So... What do you think? Is this story worth continuing, or is it just dragging on?

Please give me a mildly-intelligent-sounding review stating your opinion. :)

-NOFO Journey


	8. Notice II: The Sequel

**A/N: **All right, everyone. I have listened to your replies...

And this story will be continued.

...But it's still on hiatus.

I expect it to be that way for a while, and I can't say how long- but I guarantee my other Hetalia fic, April Fools!, will be finished before I continue.

(And Anon: by "intelligent", I mostly meant that if you hate it, don't post "OMG THIS STORY SUX BAWLZ U SHUD DELETE IT NOW!1! !". I apologize for striking your sarcastic reflex zone.)

Well, glad to hear that there are a few people that like this story- so thank you for caring. I'll do my best when I take this off hiatus. :)

P.S.: Prussia will appear in two chapters. Just thought I'd throw that in so you'd get PO'd at me for not updating. :P

With love,

NOFO Journey


	9. Will Someone Hit the Ball Already?

A/N: This fic is back! Sorry for the wait, and thanks in advance for reviews. ;)

"I'll bat first," France announced, grabbing a bat. He frowned at his helmet, warranting a suppressed snicker from England, but put it on.

* * *

"Ball two," Switzerland called as Germany threw the ball back a second time. Russia reared back again, delivering another pitch, which bounced off the very tip of France's bat.

"Ball three."

"What are you _doing_?" America shouted as Russia gripped the baseball again. "One more, and you're giving him a walk!"

"Oh, do you not want me to do that?" Russia asked innocently.

"_Of course not_!" America screamed back.

"Hm. Maybe I'll go ahead, then."

"You throw one more ball, and I swear I'll nuke you!" America roared.

"America, that's hardly something to joke about!" England called from his dugout disgustedly.

"Who said I was joking?"

"Throw one more ball, and you'll nuke me, da?" Russia started. "But I'm pitcher. It's my _job_ to throw the ball, isn't it?"

"That is _so_ not what I _meant_!"

"Oh, just give it a rest," England grumbled. "How about this stays a _somewhat_ friendly game of baseball and not a promise of mutually-assured destruction?"

"Fine," America agreed unenthusiastically. He turned back to Russia. "If you give him a walk, I'll just kick your butt _without_ nukes."

"We'll see," Russia sang, firing off his next pitch.

France finally got to hit the baseball this time; he took off for first base as the ball flew high up toward third.

Romano ran forward, but the ball's trajectory wouldn't lead it close enough to him. Russia, though, upon running to the left, had the fly in his range. He reached out his glove...

And bounced the ball back into the air.

"What the heck are you _doing_?" shouted America as France neared his base.

"Oh, do you want me to catch it?" Russia replied, knocking the baseball back up.

"Of course I—" America stopped himself, realizing Russia would probably do the opposite of what he told him to. "...Don't?" he finished quizzically.

"Okay." Russia let the ball fall to the ground.

"Wha-! What the crap?" America stared at the baseball while France trotted past his base unstressfully.

"What? That's what you told me to do, da?"

"I—I didn't—The—With the—Oh, _screw you_!" America spat, stomping on the ground.

Poland stepped back as France walked past his base. "Okay, is anyone, like, gonna go get the ball?"

"I'll get it," Germany grumbled, getting up from his catcher's position and heading for the baseball.

Just before he knelt to grip it, though, Romano shoved him out of the way and grabbed it himself.

"Ha! I got it first!" the Italian bragged.

"That's fine, but... You need to get back to your base!" Germany shouted, motioning at France, who had almost gotten to third.

"Ah!" Romano yelped, taking off for his base. He was far too late, though; France easily landed on third before him.

"Safe," Switzerland called. "France hits a triple!"

"I'm going to _kill you_!" America shrieked at Russia, who just laughed.

"What do you mean? I didn't give him a walk, did I?"

"Yes! He _walked_ all the way to _third base_!"

* * *

"_Who bats next, then_?" Japan, having to raise his voice to be heard over America's and Russia's bickering, asked his team.

"I will, aru!" China announced, putting on a batting helmet.

* * *

"Ball two."

America spluttered off a few more incoherent death threats as Russia prepared to pitch again.

"This really _is_ bugging you, isn't it?" Russia giggled.

"Oh, you couldn't tell before?" America shouted back.

"Of course I could. You're just so much fun to mess with!" Russia sang.

"I _swear_ I am going to nuke—"

"Enough of this!" Japan interrupted angrily—that is, the closest he would get to angrily—stomping out of his dugout. "Both of you, stop it! We all came here deciding to put aside our differences for one afternoon to enjoy a game of baseball, did we not?"

"I'm enjoying it like this," Russia piped in his defense.

"The rest of us sure aren't, aru," China scoffed, leaning on his baseball bat.

"That's right," Japan responded. "So—if you have enough restraint to do it—quit this disgusting bickering and play the match." He narrowed his eyes at Russia. "And I mean _play_ it."

America laughed ."You heard hi—"

"Don't start."

* * *

"Strike two!"

Germany threw the ball back to Russia as China prepared to swing again.

"Hah!" China grunted, smacking the ball to far center field. He took off for the base in front of America, who was watching the ball's trajectory.

"Greece, have you got that?" America called. "...Greece?" He watched the ball land in the outfield as China neared his base.

"Are you kidding me? He, like, fell asleep _again_?" Poland sighed, turning around to find his teammate.

"Safe," Switzerland called as France trotted past home plate.

"Someone go get that!" America shouted as China tapped a foot on his base and made for second.

"I've got i—"

"On my way!" Finland called back, unaware that someone else was already closer to the baseball than he. The blonde continued forward to swoop up the ball...

And rammed right into Canada.

"Ah! Sorry!" Finland exclaimed. "I didn't see you!"

Quite ready to retort with something nasty, Canada got back up, put his glasses back on, and replied, "N-No, that's okay..."

"Someone get the _ball_!" America interrupted loudly.

"Got it!" Finland called back, scooping up the baseball and looking about the bases.

"Over here, over here!" Poland shouted, waving his glove in the air.

Finland nodded, stepping back and pitching the baseball toward the second baseman.

Poland reached up, barely managing to catch it just as China slid into his base.

"Safe!" Switzerland called. "China hits a double. And, one run this inning for Team Japan!"

Liechtenstein adjusted the scoreboard accordingly as China stood up and swept some dirt off his pants.

* * *

"All right, who hasn't batted this round, then?" Japan started, tapping a baseball bat on the ground lightly.

"I haven't!" Italy announced, waving his hand in the air.

"If _you_ go, you'd better not just run away from the ball again," England grumbled.

Italy slowly put his hand back down.

"Um, I haven't gone yet," Spain volunteered.

"All right, go ahead," Japan replied with a nod.

* * *

"Strike two," Switzerland called.

Spain, a bit flustered, readjusted his stance, and Russia pitched again.

The Iberian nation sent the ball flying this time.

"I've got it!" Canada called, though he was quite unsure anyone would notice. He had to run forward substantially, but the baseball just glided off his leather-coated fingertips. The brunette picked it up hurriedly and pitched it toward his brother.

America, actually having heard Canada somehow, turned around, ready to catch. Spain set foot on his base, but America had already caught the baseball.

"Out!" Switzerland called. "Two outs for Team Japan!"

"Haha!" America laughed. "Was that heroic or what?"

"Not really," Poland replied with a frown, motioning at China, who was already sprinting for third.

"Ah!" America yelped. "Romano!" he shouted, hurling the ball to the third baseman.

"Got it!" Romano replied, reaching up high to catch the baseball.

But he still missed it.

The baseball continued to zip past, hitting the far wall. Romano growled, running after it, as China decided to go for home base.

The Italian reached the ball and turned around to see China dangerously close to scoring a run. He hurled the baseball to home plate.

Germany scuttled over a bit to catch it, but the ball somehow nailed him in the throat. It dropped to the ground as he started coughing.

Romano had to laugh. "I didn't even do that on pur—I mean, that's what you _get_, potato freak!"

Germany probably would have sighed if he weren't in a mad rush to reclaim the ball before China reached his base. The blonde snatched up the baseball, and, whipping around, tagged China milliseconds before the Asian could set foot on home plate.

"Out!" Switzerland declared. "Three outs for Team Japan—end of inning!"

China and Spain made their way to meet their team in the dugout, while America's team, with the repeated exception of Greece, gathered in its dugout. Moments later, Team Japan had taken their places in the outfield—as well as gotten Greece back out of center field—and America had stepped up to bat.

Japan put his hand in his glove, reared back, and fired off a pitch. America swung hard—though not nearly as hard as last time—and the baseball spiraled toward center field.

France hurried back to catch the ball—not far, since he was already near the fence—but it ricocheted off the back fence before he could reach it. Swiping it off the grass, he whipped around, facing first base, and hurled the ball.

The baseball, however, veered sharply from its intended path, reaching the pitcher's mound instead. Japan caught it, but America had already reached first base.

"Safe. America hits a single."

America disappointedly fussed with his batting helmet as Russia padded over to home plate.

* * *

"Strike two!"

China tossed the ball back to Japan, while America struggled to restrain himself from threatening Russia again.

The baseball was pitched fast toward home plate, where Russia finally managed to bat it toward third.

Italy, meanwhile, had ended up distracting himself by watching a caterpillar wriggle across the infield grass.

"Italy!" Japan, after determining the left fielder was too far away to get to the baseball, called.

"Huh?" Italy looked up curiously, and then spotted the ball coming towards him. "Ah!" he panicked. "Ger—"

"Just catch it!" shouted Japan. "It won't hurt you!"

"A-Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure!"

"Nnn…" Italy looked up at the ball unconvinced, but held his glove out, anyway. The ball hit the leather with a thump, and Italy stared stunned at the baseball in his hand.

"Out!" called Switzerland. "America did not make it to second in time, and his team has one out this inning."

"Yay!" chimed Italy, suddenly realizing he had done this. "I got an out!"

"Good job," Japan credited with a nod. He held up his glove. "Throw it back?"

* * *

"So, who's next?" Finland started.

Romano, possibly beginning to come to terms with how much he sucked at this game, didn't volunteer for once.

"Like, I'll go." Poland put on a helmet, grasped a bat, and trotted over to home plate.

* * *

"Strike one."

Poland got back into batting position and managed to smack Japan's next pitch to left field.

England hurried forward to catch the ball, but it fell to the ground just a meter away. He swooped down, snatched it up, and, after checking the bases to see America closer to second than Poland to first, hurled the ball toward Estonia.

Estonia turned toward the oncoming ball slowly, debating whether it was good to get America out or bad to give Russia's team another out. He caught the ball, deciding the former was best.

America came to a screeching halt a meter away from the base, but before he could turn to sprint back to first, Estonia had tagged him.

As Switzerland declared the American was out, Estonia looked back nervously toward Russia in the dugout.

Russia gave a short nod. Estonia sighed in relief.

* * *

"Who's next?" America grumbled, obviously displeased about getting out.

"…Me, I guess," Germany finally responded, leaning to pick up a bat and helmet.

* * *

"Strike one!"

The baseball was thrown back to Japan, and Germany prepared for the next pitch. Japan sent a curveball flying toward him, but he was ready; a solid crack of the bat sent the ball soaring toward the fence.

France sprinted back, getting the ball off the grass right after it landed. He turned to check the bases—Poland was halfway to second, and Germany was almost at first—before attempting to toss the baseball to Lithuania. In reality, the throw veered toward the pitcher, but it was at such an awkward angle Japan couldn't solidly catch it. The Asian nation squatted down and picked the ball up, and the two baserunners stopped where they had reached.

"Both players made it to the next base on time!" Switzerland announced. "Germany hits a single."

* * *

"I can do better than that!" Romano proclaimed, grabbing a helmet.

The others in the dugout didn't seem as convinced.

* * *

Romano steadied his batting stance, and Japan fired off the first pitch. Somehow, it was actually hit the first time; it sailed toward second base.

Estonia stared upward at the ball. He didn't get in trouble last time, but that was America… Did Russia have any vendetta against Romano? He didn't think so…

With a sigh, the Baltic stepped to the side and let the baseball fall to the ground a few feet to his left.

Spain, dodging Poland as he ran for third, sped over and plucked up the ball, but it was too late. All three on America's team had reached their bases. With a sigh, Spain tossed the ball back to Japan.

* * *

"All right, Canada," America announced, tossing his brother a bat, "your turn. We have two outs, and the bases are loaded, so hit a grand slam!" He paused. "Uh, no pressure or anything."

"Right…"

* * *

"Strike two!"

Canada adjusted his stance nervously, concerned that he wouldn't even hit the ball in the first place, let alone score a grand slam.

But the next pitch was hit; it veered too far to left field to go over the fence, though.

England hurried to the ball, but he had practically been on the exact opposite side of his position. Canada had already reached second base before he finally threw it to the pitcher.

"Canada hits a double," Switzerland called. "And that's two more runs for Team America this inning."

* * *

Finland adjusted his helmet a bit before Japan hurled the next pitch. The blonde hit the ball, which flew high in the air toward first base.

Lithuania, not taking any chances, backed away, but the center fielder, knowing this, ran to get the baseball. France didn't catch it, but by some miracle managed to throw it to Japan intentionally, ending the run.

"Finland hits a single," the umpire concluded. "Germany did not reach home base in time, and Canada did not reach third in time; both go back to their bases."

* * *

America stared hopelessly at the two remaining countries. Neither Greece nor Turkey was a promising batter for a grand slam, but it didn't seem like something he could change…

Or could he?

"Be right back!" he announced, running out of the dugout to the pitcher's mound.

"America?" Japan started. "What's going on?"

"Uh, nothing, nothing," America replied. "I just need you to pretend to be talking to me!"

"Um… All right…?"

"Okay, great, thanks!" America darted back to the dugout, leaving a very confused Japan behind.

"All right, you two!" the head of the team started excitedly. Turkey and Greece looked on with a hint of curiosity. "I just talked to Japan," America continued, leaning in, "and he said whichever of you two scores the most runs gets to be his _best friend_!"

The two exchanged a wide-eyed glance.

"Really?" Turkey finally responded.

"Yeah, really. You can ask him after the game. So!" America looked at the two of them. "Who bats first?"

"Me," Greece volunteered immediately, picking up a bat.

As he loped to home plate, America looked on, only able to pray that his plan would work.


	10. Changes

A/N: Hello, all! Sorry for the delay. I've been freaking out about Hetalia being dubbed. I saw the first "episode", and now I'm panicking that I don't have any of their voices in my head. I'm just weird like that.

And please don't accuse me of putting yaoi in here. Think clean, people (well, as clean as you can when France is in the fic).

Aaaand I put historical context in a Hetalia fic, so it is surely the end of the world. Please don't hate on me for inaccuracy; history's never been my forte.

So, read and review?

* * *

Greece stepped up to home plate, getting into a noticeably better batting stance than he had the last few times. Japan took note of this, but didn't seem to think much of it; he pitched a plain fastball. Greece pivoted and swung—

—And sent the ball sailing over the back fence.

The outfielders stared. The infielders stared. The baserunners stared.

"…Home run," Switzerland called finally, not sounding quite convinced of the fact himself. "Four more runs for Team America this inning."

While the outfielders, infielders, and baserunners continued to gawk in disbelief, Greece strolled back to the dugout, bat in hand. He approached Turkey.

"Four runs for me." He held the bat out toward his rival. "Your turn."

* * *

"Strike three! Three outs for Team America—switch positions!"

Turkey stalked back to the dugout to return his bat and helmet as the rest of his team scattered across the diamond.

"All… right…" Japan, trying to put aside his confusion, looked around his dugout. "Who's left to bat?"

His teammates looked around vacantly.

"Well, the three of us," Lithuania sighed, motioning to himself, Estonia, and Latvia.

"I haven't gone, either!" Italy, apparently immune to puzzlement, piped.

"All right, go ahead, Italy," Japan sanctioned.

* * *

Italy, still refusing to wear his batting helmet, waved his bat in the air before taking a loose stance.

Russia wound up and fired off a pitch, but unusually flinched as he did so.

Italy fled from the baseball as usual, and Switzerland called strike one. With a small grunt, Germany lobbed the ball back to the pitcher, who caught it irresolutely.

"Something wrong, commy?" called America.

"No, nothing," Russia assured, rolling his throwing shoulder a few times before rearing up for the next pitch. He hurled the baseball forward, recoiling again—so much that, if Italy had decided to stay put, it would have been a ball instead of a strike.

"You _sure _nothing's wrong?" America prodded, though he sounded more jeering than caring.

"Sure," Russia hummed, sounding the slightest bit irked.

The catcher tossed the baseball back, and Russia prepared to throw again. He pulled his arm back and flung the ball forward.

As usual, Italy struck out and Switzerland called it, but, not as usual, Russia jerked back, yelping and gripping his shoulder.

"Er—Hey! Are you all right?" called America, sounding conflicted about asking his enemy such a question.

Russia did not reply; he only kept saying "ow" as the umpire came forward to escort him to the dugout. The first baseman looked on, unsure of whether he should be more concerned about losing a player or more focused on taunting his archrival. He ended up just standing there silently as Russia and Switzerland disappeared into the dugout.

After a minute, Switzerland came jogging out alone.

"Well?" America prompted.

"Well…" The umpire sighed. "I offered to go get him some aspirin for a very low price, but he said he had it covered. He took a pretty big bottle of vodka out of his pocket, and, well… I don't think you want him throwing for you anymore."

America stared at the newsbringer blankly for a moment before reacting.

"So I finally get to be pitcher!" he announced excitedly, glancing over at the mound.

"You do realize we won't be able to play with just eight players?" Germany brought up.

"Oh…" This seemed to put a bit of a hamper on America's mood. "Well… Switzerland! How about you play?"

Switzerland blinked. "How am I supposed to ump fairly if I'm playing on one of the teams?"

"But… _Somebody _has to play for us!" America protested. "I mean, we're in the middle of a game, and… and… There has to be _someone_ who can play!"

"Someone _awesome_?"

America perked up at the newcomer's voice and looked about to find him. He soon did, spotting a figure springing off the stands and into the field. As the newcomer ran to the infield, America called, "Hey, East!"

"Tch!" the newcomer scoffed, stopping next to the new pitcher. "If _that _guy—" he pointed over toward a blissfully-oblivious-looking Russia in the dugout—"isn't here to hear it, you're _not _calling me that."

"Er, 'kay," America responded. "Then what am I supposed to call you…?"

"Prussia," Germany and his brother replied simultaneously.

* * *

"All right, let's get the _real _game started!" America announced, tossing the baseball above him and catching it when it fell down. Prussia, who had already consulted with Switzerland about the playing fee, was positioned on first base, but Japan's team had yet to send out a batter.

"Hey! What's taking you so long?" the first baseman called, glaring at the opponent's full dugout.

"One moment, please!" the other team's pitcher called. Prussia humphed.

* * *

"So, you three are the only ones left to bat, correct?" Japan continued.

The Baltics nodded.

"All right, well, one of you, go ahead."

Latvia, Estonia, and Lithuania exchanged glances.

"…Can I just go ahead and surrender my turn again?" Latvia started nervously.

Japan seemed surprised. "Why? Russia's not pitching anymore."

"Yeah?" Latvia looked over to the other dugout, but couldn't see the other country.

"Yes. You might as well try this time."

"But… I'm still playing against his team. Wh-what if he gets angry?"

"Well," England offered, "if the bottle Russia's drinking out of now is the same size as what he carries around normally… He's going to be out of it for the whole game, easily."

"Yeah? You think so?" Latvia still sounded unsure.

"And none of us will tell him if it was one of you three—" Japan gesticulated to the Baltics—"who hit a run."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

"Well… Okay." Latvia picked up a batting helmet. "I-I'll try, then."

* * *

America spun the baseball in his hand as Latvia finally approached home plate.

"All right! You ready for this?" the pitcher called, putting his hand and the baseball behind his glove.

Latvia got into an uncertain batting stance. "Um… Yeah…?"

America reared back a bit and flung the ball to home plate. It hit the catcher's glove before Latvia could blink.

"Strike one."

"Er—" Latvia watched as the ball was tossed back to the pitcher—"s-sorry, I wasn't really ready…"

"Sure," America responded, sounding utterly unconvinced, as he caught the ball. "Are you ready _now_?"

Latvia's bat bobbed in little circles as he adjusted his grip.

"Yeah."

"Here it comes, then!"

America hurled another pitch, and, before most of anyone knew what was happening, it had collided with the bat and was flying away from home plate.

Latvia stared after the baseball as much as most of the infielders.

"Latvia!" China called. "_Run_, aru!"

"O-oh! Right!" Latvia started for first while America's team seemed confused as to why the centerfield wasn't going after the ball.

"Did he, like, fall asleep _again_?" Poland sighed exasperatedly, watching as the ball hit the centerfield grass far away from him.

"Looks like it," Finland called as he hurried over to where the baseball lay.

As Latvia stole first, the Scandinavian finally scooped up the ball, and, after analyzing the situation, threw it toward second.

Poland lunged over to catch the ball, but it fell too short of the base for him to do so. He hurried over to pluck it from the ground as Latvia came up to his base. Riskily, the Baltic country decided to steal. Poland lurched toward his base, but was milliseconds too late. Deciding it was close enough, Poland ran after Latvia ready to tag.

Latvia, though, having run for his life several times because of his residence's proximity to Russia's, easily outpaced the blonde to third, where he decided to stop.

"Safe!" called the umpire. "Latvia hits a triple!"

Poland stalked back over to his base and tossed the baseball back to America.

Canada, meanwhile, considered making a facetious remark about Russia being a better pitcher, but soon realized that it wouldn't be well-received, and, even more likely, no one would hear his comment in the first place.

* * *

Japan's team looked around at each other in the dugout.

"Well… Wasn't expecting that," commented England. "I certainly won't complain, though."

"Agreed." Japan turned his gaze toward the two remaining Baltics.

"Which of you wants to bat next?" he continued.

"Well…" Estonia sighed. "I know I'm not very good…"

"Uh, I'll go ahead, then," Lithuania said, picking up his bat.

* * *

"Strike one!"

Lithuania readjusted his batting stance a bit as the ball was thrown back to the pitcher. America wound up once more and sent another fastball flying, which the Baltic nation missed again.

"Strike two!"

Lithuania sighed. "Getting off to a great start, aren't we?"

"Agreed!" the first baseman catcalled.

The batter, ignoring Prussia as best he could, prepared himself for the next pitch.

America sent the ball flying toward home plate, and Lithuania swung at it hard. It finally rebounded off the bat, soaring high toward first.

Prussia backed up a few steps, and then suddenly realized the ball was going even further back. Completely disregarding the fact that there was a right fielder, he sprinted onward, running precariously close to the side fence. As the baseball finally descended to a reasonable level, Prussia leaped up, pushed off from the fence diagonally, and snatched the ball in midair. He had fallen the few feet back to ground before Switzerland called the out.

Prussia grinned and propelled the ball back toward the pitcher.

"And that's how the _awesome _countries do it!"

America whooped.

As Lithuania padded back to the dugout, Germany lifted up his catcher's mask.

"Hey, America," he called. America turned toward the catcher.

"What's up?"

"I was thinking… Since it looks like my brother's got right field pretty well covered, maybe we should switch Finland and Greece. Since… Greece kind of isn't bothering to catch anything."

"Oh. Yeah! Good idea!" America whipped around to face the outfield. "Hey! Finland!"

"Yeah?"

"How about you switch positions with Greece?"

"Okay!"

America turned back around to see Estonia ready to bat.

"All right! We ready to go?"

"Um…" Finland started.

"What?"

"Can someone wake up Greece first?"

* * *

"Strike three!"

Estonia shrugged and started back for the dugout.

"That's three outs for Team Japan! Switch positions!"

The players did so, and soon everyone was ready, including America up to bat.

"Fifth inning! Play ball!"

Japan twirled the ball in his fingers for a moment.

"Honestly, I wouldn't mind if someone were to relieve me of pitcher…" he said to himself. "I'm getting too old for this kind of thing." Deciding no one on his team was apt to volunteer, he shook his head and prepared to throw.

The pitch was thrown, and America whipped his bat around quickly. The ball rebounded, soaring off toward left field.

England backed up in anticipation of the baseball, while France, perceiving the ball to be more toward his part of the outfield, did the same.

England took one look at the other nation and stopped in his tracks.

"France! What are you doing?" he shouted. "Put your bloody shirt back on!"

For indeed, somewhere in standing in the very-sunny outfield, France had decided to take off his shirt.

"What?" France responded. "Don't like what you see?"

"No!" England screamed. "Why _would _I?"

"Tsk, tsk," France tutted. "Loosen up!"

At some point, the two of them had stopped their pursuit of the ball, and neither seemed to notice the other players on their team shouting for them to go pick it up.

"Really, England," France continued, stepping a little closer. "It's so hot out here. Maybe you should take your shirt off, too!" He reached over and grabbed England's shirt collar.

"Wh-What the-! You get your girly-perfumed hands _off _me!" England screamed, yanking France's arm away.

"_Girly_?" France gasped, drawing back a little. "I'll have you know the scent I wear is one of the manliest on the planet!"

"What planet do you think you're _on_?"

"Home run!"

England and France suddenly seemed to remember they were in the middle of a ballgame and turned around. America was trotting past home laughing.

"See what you've done now?" England spat at France, stalking off toward the baseball.

"Oh, you can't blame it entirely on me. You—"

"_France_!" The European nation flinched at the umpire's sudden shout. "Put your shirt back on, _now_!"

"But—"

"_Get a shirt on your chest or you'll get a bullet in your head!"_

France finally decided it wasn't such a bad thing to have one's shirt on in hot weather.


	11. Shake It Up

A/N: Sorry for the update time. I was separated from my document for a while, but I've been typing feverishly all this week, so... Review anyway? ;3

"All right!" America started, looking around his dugout. "Who bats next?"

"Me—_duh_," Prussia responded, slapping on a helmet and heading for home plate.

Japan took a moment to analyze the new player, then reared back and pitched.

Naturally, Prussia hit the ball without a single strike first. He booked it to first as the baseball flew over the pitcher's head.

"Estonia! Looks like your catch, aru!" called China.

The second baseman glanced over at Prussia, who was over halfway to first base.

"We'll see."

Estonia squinted at the ball and backed up a little. He held his glove up high, and, just as Prussia slid dramatically onto first base, the ball fell into his mitt.

And promptly bounced right off.

"Wha?" Estonia spun around to try and reclaim the ball, but it landed before he could even put his arm back out for it.

"Safe," called Switzerland. "Prussia hits a single."

Prussia laughed. "I barely even hit the stupid thing!"

"Yeah," Poland retorted. "You, like, _barely _hit a single!"

Prussia glared into his team's dugout. "Aw, shut up, blondie. They should just be thankful I wasn't trying."

"All right, sure," Poland replied with a scoff.

"Well, if you're so much better than me, how about _you _bat next?" Prussia called. "See if _you _can do any awesome with that kind of effort. You won't," he added, just to be clear.

"We'll, like, see about that!" Poland grabbed a batting helmet.

* * *

"Strike one."

Prussia cackled.

Poland simply ignored him as the ball was lobbed back to the pitcher. Japan wound up and fired off another throw.

Poland swung the bat around, and it hit the baseball with a loud crack. He took off for first as the ball soared toward the shortstop.

Spain stepped side to side as he tried to anticipate where the ball would fall. He had to suddenly lurch to the side to catch, but the ball went straight past his hand—

—And right into Prussia's.

The shortstop stared as Prussia continued to run for third.

"What just happened?"

"_Awesome _just happened!" Prussia responded, continuing to run.

"Okay, I don't care what set of rules we're playing by, but there's no way that's allowed!" England objected.

"I was told you get out on tags and catches," Switzerland responded. "Never said which team it had to be. So, Poland's out. One out this inning for Team America."

"What?" Poland gaped, stopping in his track. "But he's, like, on the same… _What_?"

Prussia continued laughing as he rounded third.

"You just got your own teammate out, you idiot!" yelled Germany.

"Oh, he wouldn't have gotten a run, anyway," Prussia scoffed.

"I don't suppose anyone's going to go get the ball from him?" shouted England, too far away to attempt it himself.

"I'd like to see you try!" Prussia catcalled, almost to home plate.

China stood defensively in front of the base while Prussia neared. Prussia smirked, folding his right arm behind him so China couldn't reach the baseball. The Oriental nation lurched, anyway, but Prussia spun around, and, in a confusing mass of footwork, spun around and got past the catcher. The plate was only centimeters away, but China hurried back in front of it.

"Since we don't seem to be playing by the rules," he commented, holding his arms out wide to keep Prussia from pulling another stunt, "I'll just keep you off the base until we get that ball and tag you, aru!" Prussia sidestepped, but China matched his movement.

"Now, if someone would actually _come and get the ball _we can get him out!" China called impatiently.

Japan, still bewildered by the sudden loss of convention, hurried over to the scene. He stepped behind Prussia and reached for the baseball.

"Don't think so!" Prussia responded, spinning so he was facing the pitcher's mound. He took a few quick steps backward, but the two Asians closed in on him quickly. Stepping back a little more, he continued away from the plate until he was almost up to the fence.

"And now the awesome part!" Prussia turned toward the outfield and, before either the catcher or the pitcher could snatch the ball from him, starting running.

"Cover the fence, aru!" China called, recalling Prussia's earlier catching stunt.

"Too late!" Prussia sprang up to the fence, came to a stop, and turned back around. He sprinted off again, this time getting closer to home plate. China and Japan kept pace with him, but they were far from reaching the baseball in his held-high hand and not much closer to being able to trip him up.

The three continued running as home plate neared. Prussia started to slow down, as did the other two. The three nations came to a stop, watching each other defiantly.

Prussia started to crouch down, keeping balance carefully. And, before either Japan or China knew what was happening, he sprung. The pitcher flung his arms up in a last-ditch attempt to stop Prussia, but he only brushed up against the baserunner's pants leg. Prussia tumbled over onto the last stretch of the basepath, and with one last lurch, slapped his hand on home plate.

"Safe!" Switzerland called. "That's two runs this inning for Team America."

Prussia whooped as Japan started back for the pitcher's mound slowly.

"Switzerland?" Japan started.

"What's up?"

"I think we need to add some more rules."

"Wha-a-at?" America intervened. "No way! Baseball's _way _funner this way!"

Japan looked over at the opposition dubiously. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah!" America replied, making it sound like the answer was completely obvious.

"Well…" Japan sighed. "All right, never mind. We'll just keep this set of rules."

"Yes!" America responded victoriously, clenching his fist in front of him.

Japan didn't seem quite as excited.

* * *

"Okay!" America started, looking around his dugout. "Who's batting next?"

"Well, that was a pretty hard act to follow," commented Finland. "But I'll try."

* * *

"Strike two!"

China tossed the baseball back to the pitcher.

"Well, maybe this wasn't such a good idea." Finland rearranged his batting stance again.

Japan fired off the third pitch, and Finland finally hit the thing. The ball flew toward center field—

—And so did a certain awesome nation.

"What is he doing now?" Japan muttered to himself, watching Prussia hightail it to the outfield.

Meanwhile, Finland was sprinting for first base, and France was backing up to catch the ball. Prussia darted in front of the center fielder, blocking his view.

"Hey!" France reacted. He bobbed his head to the side, but Prussia kept up.

"What is this, basketball, aru?" China remarked, shaking his head in disbelief.

The baseball started to descend at last, heading straight for the tangle of players in centerfield. Prussia insisted on blocking France from seeing until the very last second.

The ball was finally within France's reach, but he couldn't react in time and got a baseball to the face for it.

Prussia laughed, jogging back to the dugout. France wobbled about, dazed by the impact, while England rushed over to get the ball before Finland could reach second base.

He failed, though; by the time the Briton had gotten the ball off the outfield grass, Finland was safely on second base and not going anywhere.

"Safe!" Switzerland called. "Finland hits a double!"

"These guys are _cheating_, aru!" China growled. "I don't care whether the rules say it or not, but there's no way you can do what he just did in baseball, aru!"

"You're just jealous of my awesomeness!" Prussia responded.

China scowled.

* * *

In a few more moments, Germany had been coaxed to step up to home plate.

Before he got ready to bat, he turned to face his brother and called, "Stay in the dugout for this one. I can handle things with the rules intact."

Prussia scoffed, apparently not holding the supposed rules in high regard. "Fine. Don't blame me if you get out."

"I won't."

Germany got into a batting stance, and Japan fired off the first pitch. Germany swung, but was too late.

"Strike one."

"Yeah, you're handling things _real _well!" Prussia called.

Germany growled almost inaudibly and got ready to swing again.

Japan sent the next pitch flying, and it rebounded from Germany's bat this time, headed for the shortstop.

Spain stepped closer to third base, watching the ball intently. It came down in a regular arc, and the Iberian nation caught it easily.

"Out! That's two outs for Team America!"

Once he had gotten back to the dugout, Germany could not hear his own thoughts because his brother's maniacal laughter was so loud.

America waited a minute for it to die down so he could find his brother—who was, of course, standing right in front of him—and tell him to bat next, but even when Prussia's laughing turned to bemused taunting, it was still too loud.

Romano instead decided for himself to go and bat.

* * *

"Strike two!"

Prussia glared at the batter as China lobbed the baseball back.

"I can't help awesomely if you don't even hit the thing!" he yelled from the dugout.

"Shut up! I've almost got it!"

Japan wound up and threw. Romano swung awkwardly, and the ball bounced pitifully off the bat, landing a mere meter in front of him. He ran anyway.

And so did Prussia.

China lunged for the ball to get to it first, but only ended up butting against Prussia. The two spent a good couple of seconds trying to shove each other out of the way before Japan finally arrived to help. Prussia suddenly lurched to the side not occupied by China, sending the catcher stumbling sideways, and jumped to cover the ball before Japan could pick it up.

A very irritated China got up, shot his arms under Prussia's abdomen, and heaved him aside. Japan hurried to find the ball, but soon realized Prussia had already managed to grab it.

Romano rounded first base, and Finland third.

Prussia, not having time to get up before the Asians were after him, rolled over a few times to get out of range, then scrambled to his feet. Before he could take off running, China grabbed a shoulder, and Japan lunged for Prussia's other hand and the baseball. Prussia stretched his arm out in the other direction and kept Japan from pursuing by a well-placed foot to the stomach.

China tugged hard, and the now-on-one-foot Prussia wobbled, finally losing his balance. Prussia fell to the ground, and seconds after he hit, Japan at last wrenched the baseball from his grip.

As the pitcher jogged back to his mound, Finland trotted across home plate.

"Three runs for Team America this inning!" Switzerland announced. "And Romano hits a triple."

Panting, Prussia high-fived Finland as the two walked back to the dugout.

Germany eyed his brother vexedly. "At this rate, you're going to wear yourself out before we even get to the seventh inning."

Prussia eyed him right back. "Yeah, anyone _unawesome_ would. But hopefully you know me better than that."

Germany sighed as America looked around to decide who would bat next.

* * *

While waiting for the batter to come out, Japan looked despairingly at the scoreboard; his team was losing 4-16. The gap certainly wasn't going to close at this rate. He had to do _something_…

"Batter up!"

Japan turned to see Canada poised at home plate.

Well, if the pitcher was going to bend the rules, now was not the time to do it. He'd just see how this play went.

Japan pulled his arm back and flung the ball forward. Canada swung at it hard and sent it flying to the outfield.

France jogged backward and to the side, noting with relief Prussia didn't seem to be coming out of the dugout for this one. He didn't seem to note, however, a certain Briton running for the same baseball as him.

The two collided.

"I almost caught that!" France exclaimed.

"You weren't supposed to catch it!" England snapped. "How about you stay on your own bloody part of the field?"

France looked at the grass pointedly. "I don't see a line."

"Home run!"

The two European nations looked over to see the baseball slipping away behind the fence.

"You wouldn't have caught it anyway," England grumbled, sweeping himself off and stepping away from France.

* * *

"Awesome!" Canada received a high-five from Prussia as he jogged back into the dugout.

"Yeah, good job, dude," Amreiica said, adding a high-five of his own. "All right…" He looked around the dugout. Turkey hadn't batted yet, but… He was Turkey.

But, Greece hadn't batted, either, right?

America checked the bench, but rather than being occupied by Greece as it usually was, a passed-out Russia was taking up its whole length, his lower legs hanging off the end awkwardly.

Greece, having his sleeping space taken away, was instead slumped up against the side of wall with his eyes closed.

"Greece!" America announced. "You're up!"

Greece, apparently not quite as fast asleep as usual, stirred and drowsily grabbed a bat. As he walked past America, the bespectacled nation whispered, "Don't forget Japan's hitting contest!"

* * *

Japan wound up for a pitch and delivered a speedy fastball, but Greece still hit it in time, sending it flying, once again, over the back fence.

"Home run," Switzerland responded. "Five runs for Team America this inning."

* * *

Turkey swung for the third time and missed for the third time.

"Out! Three outs for Team America! Switch positions!"

* * *

Japan, already wielding a bat and helmet, looked around his dugout.

"It doesn't seem valid to play by any conventional rules anymore," he started, motioning at the scoreboard and their 14-run-under score. "So… As I bat, who would like to…" He paused, trying to find the right word. "…Play defense?"

"I'll go, aru," China volunteered.

"All right, then," Japan responded, nodding. "Let's go."


	12. All's Fair in Love and Sports

"Strike two!"

China stayed poised at the edge of the dugout while Germany chucked the baseball back to the pitcher. America pulled his arm back and flung another fastball. Japan finally hit it, but the swing was so hurried it didn't look as close to a home run as most of his others had been. Waiting a moment for Japan to start down the basepath, China bolted for the outfield.

The baseball continued to speed into centerfield, where Finland awaited its arrival. As Japan neared first base, China neared the centerfielder. Finland tensed a little bit.

"Hello…?" The blonde stepped back a bit to try and make out the baseball's silhouette, but China encroached further into his territory. Finland tried to dodge around but couldn't; the ball fell to the ground a good meter in front of him.

China backed away a little bit, but before Finland could make a move toward the baseball, lunged for it himself. The Asian snatched it off the ground and held it securely to his chest. Finland tried to pull it away, but couldn't do so much as touch the leather.

Japan approached second base.

China, deciding Finland was much less of a threat than countries nearer the infield, stayed put, hopping to the side every once in a while when Finland got too close.

Then he realized the first baseman was coming for him.

"You're not out-cheating me this time, aru!" China declared as Finland backed away and Prussia took his place.

"But I'll still out-awesome you!" Prussia responded, grabbing China's wrists and trying to separate them. China refused to let go, but as the force mounted, spun around to dislodge Prussia's hands. Prussia was forced to let go, and China started jogging away victoriously as Japan neared third base.

"Ah!" China suddenly yelped as he was tackled. The Asian staggered, just able to keep his balance, but unable to dislodge the European nation from his back.

"Get off of me, aru!" China swung himself around, but Prussia wouldn't fall off. The first baseman continued to reach over China's shoulders to get the baseball.

Japan crossed third base.

China struggled for a few more seconds in trying to throw Prussia off, but eventually gave up. To keep the ball safe, he pulled it away from his chest and held it out at arm's-length, where it would be much harder for Prussia to get to.

This made it much easier for Canada to get to, though.

And since China hadn't noticed the approaching left fielder at all, he was completely unprepared to lose the baseball to him. And he did.

"Awesome job!" Prussia responded, releasing China once Canada had hurled the ball toward home plate.

Japan, realizing the sudden change in events, broke into a sprint for home base, as Germany prepared to catch. A seemingly simultaneous slide and catch later, Switzerland was peering through the cloud of dust Japan had kicked up to determine the winner. The baseball was safely cradled in Germany's glove, but Japan's toes were very obviously on base.

"Safe!" the umpire called. "One run for Team Japan this inning!"

China gave a breathless victory laugh as he made his way back to the dugout.

* * *

"Who would like to bat next, then?" Japan looked around the group. While China normally batted after him, the "defender" was still panting from his escapade.

"I'll go ahead," England offered, grabbing a batting helmet. "Who wants to back me?"

"I will," France volunteered.

England scoffed. "Oh, _right_! You'll probably just let me get out on purpose! Run out there and catch the ball or something—oh, wait, you can't do that. Go ahead, then," he finished, grabbing a baseball bat.

France fumed, but couldn't come up with a response before the island nation was already at home plate.

* * *

America whipped off the first pitch, and England smacked it hard with the bat. The baseball flew toward third base for only a moment before England and France started sprinting.

Romano stepped a few paces to the side, waving his gloved hand wildly in the air in search of the oncoming ball. France, having to cover a bit more distance than England, had only just arrived in front of the third baseman when England stopped at first.

"Hey!" Romano protested, trying suddenly to shove France out of the way. "Move it!"

France ignored him and watched the ball carefully. Just as the baseball came close to Romano's glove, the blonde slapped it out of its path, and it veered into the ground. France immediately jumped for the ball, managing to cover it with himself before the infielders even knew the ball was intercepted.

"You son of a—!" Romano dropped to the ground and tried to pry France away from the baseball.

"Run, run!" called France, irritated that England hadn't trusted him to deflect the ball.

England begrudgingly started for second base while a few of the others on America's team hurried over to the scene France was making.

France, careful to be quick about it, tucked his arms under his torso and grabbed the ball without revealing it. Before anyone but Romano and Spain had arrived, France sprang up and took off for the outfield. Deciding the sleeping Greece was probably the smallest threat, the blonde headed for right field.

He did not seem to realize, however, just how much closer that move put him to Prussia.

The first baseman had veered from his course to third base to stay in hot pursuit. Before France knew what was happening, Prussia plowed into him from the side. Startled, France accidentally let go of the ball on his descent, and it tumbled over a few meters away from Greece. Prussia bounded back off France and sprinted for the baseball, snatching it before France had even stood back up.

The first baseman looked over at the infield. England had crossed second base only moments ago.

"Turkey!"

The shortstop looked over toward the source of the voice just in time to realize the baseball was flying toward him. He hardly had to take one step before the ball was in hand.

Turkey tailed him, but couldn't catch up before the island country had set foot on base.

"Safe!" called Switzerland. "England hits a triple!"

* * *

Team Japan looked amongst themselves, trying to determine the next batter.

"I suppose neither of you are up to it just yet," Japan started, obviously referring to the still-recovering-from-the-outfield-run China and France. "How about you go?" he continued, motioning at Spain.

"Hm? Okay." Spain grabbed a bat. "Who wants to cover me?"

No one seemed very quick to volunteer.

"Um…" Spain looked around the dugout. "Italy? You want to try?"

"Okay!" Italy replied chipperly, standing up.

Spain marched off to home, hoping he hadn't just made a huge mistake.

* * *

"Strike one!" Spain readjusted as Germany tossed the baseball back to the pitcher.

America pulled his arm back and flung the ball again. Spain brought his bat back around, just managing to knock it toward first base. The batter started running, but no one else seemed to be doing the same.

"Italy?" Spain cast a quick glance back to find Italy sitting in the dugout obliviously.

"So much for helping me…" Spain looked up at the baseball. "Oh, well. It's heading toward first, anyway."

Prussia, meanwhile, was stepping forward, glove extended toward the oncoming ball.

Spain continued to pelt for the base, only letting himself look back at the baseball when he was a step away from first. He craned his neck just enough to realize he was in serious danger of being clonked in the head by the thing.

Of course, he didn't actually have time to avoid that fate.

The baseball rebounded off Spain's batting helmet, sending the nation staggering to the side. Prussia, meanwhile, just managed to snatch the ball out of the air before it hit the ground.

"Out!" Switzerland called. "That's one out this inning for Team Japan. And England goes back to third base."

* * *

"Would you like to bat next, Latvia?"

The Baltic perked up a bit. "Who? Me?"

"No, the other Latvia," China responded sarcastically.

"Wait… What?" Latvia actually started to look around for the supposed other him.

"No, I mean you," Japan sighed.

"Oh, okay." Latvia seemed to become a bit less frantic. "I'll go ahead, then."

"I'll back you," Estonia volunteered.

* * *

Latvia shrugged his shoulders a little, and then got into a batting stance. With very little wind-up, America fired off the first pitch, and Latvia managed to send it flying toward left field.

Both Canada and Estonia started running, but in just a few moments, the ball had skirted off the back fence into the stands beyond.

"Home run!" Switzerland called. "Two more runs for Team Japan!"

While a few of America's team members gaped, the other team's members celebrated—including England, who congratulated Latvia as they both returned to the dugout—and Estonia jogged back after them.

* * *

"I think I'm ready to bat now," China said, no longer panting.

"Go ahead, then. I'll… help on the outfield," Japan responded, getting his glove on.

* * *

"Strike two!"

China adjusted his stance, and then looked back at the pitcher. America flung another pitch that finally came in contact with the bat and flew off to center field.

China sped toward first as Japan booked it to the outfield.

Finland stepped forward a bit to get in the ball's range, but was more wary of the oncoming nation than the little white sphere.

Japan rushed into the ball's trajectory and, springing up, slapped it to the ground before it could touch Finland's mitt. The Oriental nation hurried to claim the ball, but Finland managed to stomp on it before that could happen.

Japan looked down at Finland's foot for only a second before electing to bowl the other nation over. While he was polite under normal circumstances, this was baseball. And it was quite clear that the rule of "anything goes" was very valid.

Finland went over with a startled yelp, and Japan picked the baseball up quickly.

China, however, was not so victorious.

Although he had more than enough time to reach first base, his progress was being thoroughly blocked by Prussia. The European nation was very good at mirroring China's attempts to sidestep him. And when that failed, there was always the simple process of shoving the Asian nation back a few centimeters.

"Out of the way, aru!" China again tried to lurch past Prussia, but couldn't shove the first baseman aside.

Prussia just laughed, cutting short that effort and another one to bypass him and get to second base.

Japan, meanwhile, had tucked himself safely against the back fence, with the baseball lodged between him and the metal. The right fielder, being asleep, obviously hadn't tried to get the ball away from him, and the left fielder was only just now getting over to the spot.

Canada tried to pull Japan's shoulder forward, but made about as much progress as China was making against Prussia. Which, of course, was none at all.

With both ends of the field in a deadlock, the pitcher finally decided it would be a conveniently heroic time to jump in.

Bounding out of the infield, America made it to the back fence quickly. His brother quietly stepping aside, he grinned victoriously at Japan for a moment before easily prying him away from the fence. Japan tried to make a run for it, but Canada managed to snatch the ball out of his hands before he could take a single step. Canada lobbed the ball a whole a five centimeters toward his brother, who immediately started pelting for the scene on first base.

China, who had somehow gotten into a locked-arm pushing contest with Prussia, didn't even notice the oncoming pitcher until he was tagged.

"Out! Two outs for Team Japan this inning!" the umpire called.

Japan and China walked dejectedly back into the dugout, sincerely trying to ignore Prussia's victorious catcalls.


	13. Low Blow

A/N: Apologies for the slow update time, and thanks so much for reviews! I love hearing your comments.

"I guess I'll bat next, since I'm the only one who hasn't been running around," Lithuania decided, grabbing a helmet.

* * *

"Strike one!"

Lithuania, a bit disturbed by how freaking fast America was hurling the ball, positioned his bat back in swinging arrangement. The pitcher hurled the ball again, but Lithuania didn't even try to hit it.

"Ball."

The baseball was tossed back to America, who pulled his arm back and launched another pitch. Lithuania managed to hit it at the last second and send it dangerously close to third base.

Luckily enough for him, Romano was still on third base.

The Italian lurched for the ball, but only ended up knocking it past the foul line. Time inadvertently bought for him, Lithuania started dubiously for first base. Romano scrambled for the ball while Prussia grinned at the oncoming baserunner.

Getting close to first, Lithuania sighed as much as a running person can sigh while Prussia assumed a battle stance.

Romano managed to get the baseball off the ground as the first baseman charged Lithuania. The helpless baserunner came to a gloomy stop just before Prussia tackled him.

"Hey! Prussia-idiot!" Romano yelled, waving the baseball in the air. "I can't throw this to you if you're not ready to catch it!"

"You couldn't throw it to me if I _was _ready to catch it," Prussia countered, grabbing the fallen Lithuania by the scruff of his shirt. "Now," he continued, leaning in toward the baserunner, "Lithuania's just going to lie here like a good little boy while you run the ball over and tag him out. Aren't you, Lithuania?"

Letting his head drop to the basepath dirt, Lithuania sighed, "Yes."

Prussia planted his foot on Lithuania's chest, just to make sure, but he had no trouble keeping the baserunner down long enough for Romano to arrive. Lithuania was promptly tagged out.

"Three outs for Team Japan!" called Switzerland. "End of inning! Switch positions!"

Soon enough, the players had followed his commands, and he was announcing the beginning of inning number six.

America, of course, had taken up a bat first, and was on home plate. Japan was ready to pitch, although he was far less energetic than before due to the game's frantic new pace. The pitcher wound up nevertheless and threw a fastball. America smacked the particularly slow pitch easily, and the ball soared over toward the fence. France backed up wearily to catch it, but it was clearly a home run ball.

The umpire called it as such, and the scoreboard adapted to show 7-19.

Japan stifled an exasperated sigh. He was worn down enough from pitching all this time, not to mention the escapades with Prussia! Things weren't looking good for his team now, and things didn't seem to have a chance of getting better.

* * *

America's helmet met its shelf with a thunk as he looked around. "Who's next?" he started. "Prussia?"

The aforementioned nation, having shoved the still-incognizant Russia halfway off the bench, was seated on the rest of the space.

"Not just yet," he said, sounding uncharacteristically breathless.

Germany shook his head. "Told you you'd get worn out."

"I am _not _worn out!" Prussia responded, although the lack of breath behind his voice implied the opposite. "I just want to wait until the bases are loaded or something. It'd be a pity to waste my awesomeness, you know."

"You're worn out," Germany informed him again.

Prussia rolled his eyes and leaned back. "Well, since you're so full of energy, how about you try batting without me backing you up again?"

Germany shrugged and grabbed a bat.

* * *

Stepping up to home plate, Germany adjusted his grip on the bat and prepared to swing. Japan wound up and slung the baseball forward.

Germany hit it on the first try, and as the ball sailed toward third base, the batter ran toward first.

Italy, although the baseball was headed pretty much straight for him, didn't see it because he was staring at a cloud that looked suspiciously like a bowl of pasta.

The shortstop, realizing this, hurried over to intercept the ball's trajectory, but couldn't make it in time. The ball landed undisturbed before Italy suddenly seemed to remember he was playing baseball.

"Ah! I've got it!" he sang, bending over and picking up the baseball before Spain could. The third baseman spun the ball in his hand slowly, looking around. Germany was just crossing first base.

Hey—_Germany_ was running! Italy didn't want to get _him_ out…

"Here, just give me the ball," Spain said, reaching to remove the baseball from Italy's hand. Italy stepped back.

"But then you'll get Germany out!" he objected.

"We're playing a game," Spain responded, taking another step toward Italy. "He's not your friend right now; he's just a player for the other team."

Italy's eyes widened. "He's not my friend?" he whimpered. "But…" Spain made another swipe for the baseball, but Italy clutched it to his chest.

"Germany!" the brunette called. "You're still my friend, aren't you?"

Germany, rounding second and not having enough breath to answer at the moment, just responded "Not now, Italy!"

"Wh-why?" Italy whimpered, his lower lip wobbling.

Germany, finally realizing his response was taken the completely wrong way, just shook his head as he continued running. "I mean, don't _ask _me now!" he clarified, nearing Italy's base.

"But I want to know now," Italy objected tearfully, stepping in front of his base. Germany had to slow down to avoid plowing into his friend, who still had the baseball in his hands.

Spain saw this as a prime opportunity to shove Italy forward and make him tag Germany out.

"Out!" called Switzerland as Italy stumbled back, staring at Germany wide-eyed and sure he was going to be angry with him.

Germany just exhaled loudly and went back to panting. Noticing Italy's distress, he put a hand on his shoulder, breathed, "Yes, we're still friends," and returned to the dugout.

* * *

"Well, _that _worked out," Prussia commented sarcastically as his brother put up his batting helmet.

"And I suppose you _still _don't want to go next," Germany responded.

"Nope. Not until I can hit a grand slam."

"As tired as you are, I don't think that'll be any time this game."

Prussia scoffed. "I am not _tired_. Awesome people like me don't get tired. We just step back a little so the lesser nations can have a shot at things. You should all be grateful I'm being so nice."

"Sure," Germany responded monotonically, struggling not to roll his eyes.

"So, who _is _going next?" America started.

"Um, I'll go ahead," Finland offered.

* * *

"Strike two!"

Finland readjusted, taking a deep breath before Japan flung another pitch at him. The blonde swung and finally hit, sending the ball to the front edge of right field.

Lithuania backed up, although he was quite sure he wouldn't be able to reach it. Latvia seemed to be too busy staring worriedly at Russia in the dugout to do anything concerning the actual game.

Finland set foot on first base before the baseball descended, and he didn't dare to keep running. He only watched as Lithuania stepped back, held up his glove, and caught the ball.

"Out! Two outs for Team America this inning!" declared Switzerland.

* * *

"This inning's going by pretty fast," commented Turkey.

"And it'll end even faster if we let _you _bat," Prussia pointed out. Turkey scowled.

"Here, I'll, like, go next," decided Poland, seizing a batting helmet.

* * *

"Strike two!" It was hard to hear the umpire's call over Prussia's jeering.

Japan, taking a deep breath, wound up again and threw a curveball. Poland finally managed to hit it, but it flew straight back toward the pitcher. Japan was a bit slow to react, knocking the baseball up and away, but caught the ball on the second try.

"Out! Three outs for Team America—switch positions!"

Team America, a bit confused at how things had suddenly veered away from their favor, took to the outfield slowly. But the scoreboard still said they were twelve runs ahead, so there was nothing to worry about, right?

* * *

"Italy, Estonia, and France haven't batted this round," Japan tallied, rubbing his shoulder a bit. "Who'd like to go first?"

"I will," France volunteered, taking a bat.

* * *

"Strike!"

France swung the bat back into position and waited for the next pitch. America lobbed another infamously fast fastball, and France swung and missed again.

"Strike two!"

France prepared yet again, and America finally slipped up a bit, throwing a mildly slower fastball. The batter smacked it toward left field and took off running.

Canada moved forward a bit, glove ready, as the rest of the outfielders simultaneously forgot he was there.

"I'll get it!" claimed Finland, bolting over.

"No, it's _my _ball," Canada corrected, trying not to let himself get worked up. How many times had they forgotten he was there now?

Unfortunately, Canada's response had been so soft Finland hadn't been able to hear it over the shouting in the infield and kept going.

The shouting in the infield, although partially Romano's fault for announcing he too was going after the ball, was mostly due to the convoluted wrestling match that had somehow popped up between France and Prussia. The first baseman had somehow managed to knock the baserunner down before he even got to the base, and he wasn't about to let France get back up. France, not having the ab strength to sit up while Prussia was planted on his stomach, could only attempt to knee the other nation. Once he realized this didn't seem to be inflicting much damage on Prussia, he gave up and craned his neck toward the dugout. "A little help, please?" he demanded, trying to dislodge Prussia by wiggling back and forth. That wasn't working much better than his previous attempt.

By the time England had finally decided to leave the dugout and assist his teammate, a three-way collision had prevented any of the outfielders from catching the ball. Canada managed to slip out of the jumble before Romano or Finland could escape.

The bespectacled nation rolled his shoulder, which had gotten uncomfortably jammed into his torso in the crash, and looked around for the initiator of the whole mess. The baseball was only about a foot away, so he picked it up quickly.

Meanwhile, England had managed to plant a foot on Prussia's chest and half-kick, half-stomp him off of the basrunner. This arrangement didn't give France much room to get out of the way, but he managed to squirm his way between England's feet and get up. He ran again toward first base while Prussia grabbed England's foot and threw him to the ground for no discernible reason other than payback. The first baseman then proceeded to get up and lurch after France.

While he didn't manage to do so while keeping his balance, Prussia managed to ram into France and knock him down again, still before he'd set foot on first.

In the outfield, Canada had decided doing the normal thing and throwing the ball wouldn't do much good when no one was paying the remotest smidge of attention to him. He was now instead running toward the scene near first base.

France had been tackled in such a way he could roll over to get Prussia off him, and he did just that. England, fuming about Prussia making him look like an idiot, stormed toward the two and, since Prussia was lying on his back, swiftly delivered a stomp to an uncomfortable place for a man to be stomped.

While Prussia recoiled, France finally dove for first and made it.

"Safe!" Switzerland called as Canada dejectedly tossed the ball down and started back for left field. "France hits a single."

"What was _that_?" America yelled as England attempted to return to the dugout. The blonde stopped in his tracks.

"I'd say that was a rather efficient way of keeping him from tackling France again."

"Oh, come on! You can't hit a guy there when you've got other options! Only a wimp needs to take a cheap shot like that," the pitcher finished snidely.

England's eyebrow twitched. "The twat deserved it."

"For _what_?" America countered. "Making you look like the idiot you are?"

"You bloody little—!" England cut off as he tackled America, sending the two of them back into their customary struggle of pointless punches.

Switzerland looked on blankly. As umpire, it felt like his responsibility to stop chaos from interrupting the game. But this wasn't listed in the rules he was given, and there was no way he'd jump into that fight without getting some decent pay for doing so.

It was instead up to Germany, as usual, to get things going in a somewhat-organized manner again.

"Both of you _stop_!" the catcher demanded, outraged.

America and England complied instantly, pausing their fight with both of their right fists adjacent to each other's faces.

"Are we here to argue about each other's manliness, or are we here to play baseball?" Germany continued, glaring.

America put his arm down. "Uh… Kinda depends on how you look at it."

Germany kept up his death glare as England lowered his fist.

"Okay, okay! We're done fighting!" America exclaimed, turning back to face England. "You really are a sissy, though. For all your stupid magic, you can't make yourself throw a decent punch?"

England glared, not even attempting to explain to America how any sort of magic worked. Instead he responded sarcastically, "Yes, I've been working on a spell to make myself a werewolf so I can kick your rear come full moon."

America, not in any way understanding the facetiousness, just gawked. "Oh—_oh!_" he responded excitedly. "So that's what that Warren Zevon song—?"

"America, you're an idiot," England interrupted conclusively.


	14. Take A Break

A/N: Kind of wandered off-topic here, but I was blocking a little. Hopefully it's still funny enough.

"So, should I go, or do you want to?" asked Estonia, nodding at Italy. The dugout seemed to be in control of the Baltic nation for the moment since the pitcher was busy resting on the bench.

"I'll go ahead!" Italy responded cheerfully, picking up a bat but, of course, not a helmet.

* * *

Italy, apparently forgetful of the dangers of going helmetless, got into a batter's position happily.

And then America pitched.

Italy couldn't move the bat an inch before the baseball whapped into Germany's glove behind him.

"Strike one!"

Italy blinked. "That was _fast_!"

Several sarcastic retorts of "you don't say" were stifled across the diamond.

Italy got ready to bat again, and America pulled back for the next pitch. He hurled the ball forward, but the angle was a bit off. That is, just enough off to fly straight for Italy's head.

Realizing even a frightened Italy couldn't quite get out of the way in time, Germany grabbed his friend's ankle and yanked him off his feet. Italy tumbled to the ground with a yelp before the ball went clanging off of the umpire's helmet.

"Hey! He can't do that!" America objected.

"Why not?" Prussia countered from his base. "Didn't say anything about that in the rules, did you?"

"No…" America glanced over at Italy, who was currently sobbing at apparently scraping the back of his leg a bit on the sand. "But if you attack the batter, it's just not baseball… I think it's cool with all the extra running around and epic tricks, but we can't mess with the hitting."

Prussia shrugged. " 'Kay. You sure it wouldn't be funner?"

"Yeah." America looked at Switzerland, who was fingering the baseball and recovering from the earlier impact.

"Yo! Switzerland! Let's add that to the rules!"

"Okay…" Switzerland tossed the ball back to the pitcher gently. "Just… 'no attacking the hitter while he's trying to bat', or…?"

"Yeah," America responded. "And no messing with the pitcher when he's pitching, either."

"Got it," Switzerland replied, giving an affirmative nod.

"So…" Germany started, "does that count as a ball, or strike, or…?"

"Pff. We all know he's going to strike out, anyway," Prussia responded. Germany frowned but could not find any evidence against the accusation.

"Let's put it down as a ball," the umpire decided slowly. Liechtenstein adjusted the scoreboard accordingly.

And, as America continued to pitch, Italy did indeed end up striking out, mostly because he went back to fleeing from the baseball every time it came toward him.

"That's one out this inning for Team Japan. Next batter!"

* * *

Estonia, being the only one left to bat, had stepped up to the plate in a matter of seconds.

America flung a pitch toward him, but Estonia swung far too late.

"Strike one!"

Germany tossed the ball back, and America pitched again. Estonia got the bat around a little faster, but still couldn't hit the baseball.

"Strike two!"

America chucked the ball a third time, but it was still far too fast for Estonia to hit.

"Three strikes—you're out! Two outs for Team Japan!"

* * *

Estonia set the bat down in the dugout while the others on the team looked awkwardly at Japan, who was still acting fatigued. The team silently waited for the pitcher to announce who should bat next, but he wasn't budging.

"Hey… Japan?" England started, tapping the Oriental nation on the shoulder hesitantly. Japan shifted the slightest bit but didn't speak.

Just as the eligible batters thought to go ahead and step up anyway, the pitcher finally spoke.

"Will someone ask Switzerland if we can take another break?"

Team Japan, although not as bad off as their pitcher, had gotten pretty well worn-down by Prussia's antics, too.

"Sure," Spain said, trotting out of the dugout a bit. "Switzerland!" he called, waving at the umpire for no apparent reason. "Can we take another break?"

The umpire shrugged. "Sure, if everyone wants to."

"Wh-Why would we take a break?" America objected. "We've barely gotten started here!"

"Well, we're not in a big rush, are we?" Spain countered.

"Uh…" America couldn't seem to figure a decent reply to that.

Just as it seemed the argument had been won, Romano decided to jump in.

"Why should we do it just because _you_ said so, huh, you tomato-loving bas—"

"Hey, Romano, calm down a little—I'm not trying to boss you around…"

"Yes, you are! 'Take a break', 'Calm down'—you just never stop!"

"Eh?"

"Face it, you _still _can't get over losing all your stinking authority."

"…What?"

Romano, apparently still not aware of Spain not being aware, crossed his arms. "Although I don't know why you'd want to go back, anyway. You were never any good at being a boss, anyway."

"Brother!" Italy gasped. "Quit being so _mean_!"

"I'm not beign mean, Italy! I'm just telling it like it is!"

"Can we get back to the topic on-hand?" said Germany, trying to stay calm.

"What, Spain trying to boss everybody around?"

"No, taking a break!" Germany snapped. "Come to a decision, and _then _you can… I don't know. Do whatever you're trying to do."

"And why should I be taking orders from _you_, either, potato-freak?"

Germany looked away, grumbling to himself. He would be happy to yell at Romano for obstructing the process, but he was foreseeing that would trigger a sudden mood change to the bumbling, terrified Romano. Germany couldn't quite decide which one he loathed more, but ended up not saying anything.

"For the record," Spain started slowly, "it was Japan's idea…"

"Seriously?" America glanced at Team Japan's dugout. "Yo, Japan! You wimping out on us?" he laughed. Japan didn't respond. America stopped laughing.

"Uh… Is he okay?" the pitcher asked slowly.

"I think so," Estonia put in. "Just really exhausted."

"From _what_?" America, not having pitched for as long nor knowing what it's like to have less strength than what's necessary to lift a semi-truck, just could not figure out how Japan had worn out so quickly.

"Oh, let's just, like, humor them," Poland put in finally, stepping away from his plate. "I, like, need to pee, anyway."

"Okay, sure," America conceded slowly. "Let's take a break."

* * *

The majority of the players ended up in a line for the bathroom immediately after Switzerland showed them the way. Japan remained behind in the dugout—upon questioning, he confirmed he was not dead as some had begun to suspect—and so did Russia, whom no one cared to check on.

The line currently consisted of America, Prussia, Germany, Romano, France, and China. Poland, who had somehow arrived last and ended up at the rear of the line, quickly decided to become the only occupant of the girls' restroom.

"Why am I not surprised?" Prussia commented.

"I can still, like, hear you!" echoed Poland's voice off the pink-tiled walls.

"That's why I'm bothering to point it out, dummy!"

"Hmph." No more response came from the pink restroom until a few minutes later.

"What the heck is this?"

"What's what?" Switzerland responded, leaning against the outside wall.

The only response was a shuffling rattling sound before Poland stepped back out.

"Um…" The umpire and owner of the diamond looked at the box. "It looks like a game of Scrabble."

"Why was there a Scrabble game in the bathroom?"Germany asked slowly.

"Janitor didn't pick it up yet, I guess," Switzerland replied boredly.

"So, wait," America interrupted. "Someone brought Scrabble to a baseball game and left it in the bathroom?""

"That's what it looks like."

"Dude, that's just wrong," decided America, shaking his head.

"Oh, yes, someone wanting to do something intelligent instead of watching people run in a square is uncalled for," replied England sarcastically.

"If you hate baseball so much, why the heck are you playing?" America retorted.

"I didn't say I hating playing it. I'm just saying it's stupid to watch."

"So, like, what am I supposed to do with this thing?" interrupted Poland impatiently, shaking the box.

"Well, we're taking a break, anyway. Why don't we play a quick round?" suggested England.

"_Bo-ring_," America blared. "You just want to play 'cuz you know you're not going to win the baseball game."

England crossed his arms. "_You_ don't want to play because you're too idiotic to put a decent word together," he retorted.

"Oh, please! I could cream you at that like anything else."

"You _really _believe that?" England laughed. "Please. I'd wipe the floor with you."

"Well, only one way to find out!" America turned to Poland. "Gimme that game." Poland complied uninterestedly, and America hurried over to the nearest table to set it down. England followed, suppressing snickers at just how easy it was to convince America to start a game he'd surely lose.

"Ooh! That looks fun! Can I play, too?" Italy chirped.

"Sure," England sanctioned.

"Ah! Can I join?"

"I want to play!"

"Me, too!"

* * *

After a bit of arguing and failed attempts to kick France out of the table, the Scrabble players had settled down—as much as that crew could settle down, at least. England was next to America, and the lineup continued with Spain, Italy, France, Lithuania, and Poland. Canada also had a seat, but no one gave him any tiles no matter how hard he tried to be heard. He soon left.

Each player took seven tiles and stared at the board.

"Who goes first?"

"Ah! I have a word!" Spain announced. No one really responded, so he went ahead and laid down five tiles.

"Amigo," England read monotonically. "We're playing this game in English, Spain."

"Why?" Spain responded innocently.

"The point values are strictly based on the frequency of letters appearing in the English language, and changing the language completely undermines the scoring system."

"Okay…" Spain took his tiles back slowly.

"I have a word!" France announced.

"In English?" challenged England.

"Yes, in English." France quickly laid a few tiles down. England stared at the output for a solid second before registering what it said and blushing.

"Take that off the board right now, you pervert!"

"What? It's in English," France responded innocently.

"I don't care! We are _not _using that kind of vocabulary in my Scrabble game!"

"How come it's _your _Scrabble game all of a sudden?" America objected.

England turned on the speaker. "What, you think that's appropriate for an educated word game?"

"Takes some education to know about that."

England glared, and then turned back to France, who had inconspicuously removed what he had set down with the more neutral "in".

"Okay, okay," England grumbled. "Italy, then. Your turn."

"Okay!" Italy looked over his letters for a moment. "I don't have any words!" he announced cheerfully, apparently missing the point of the game.

"Then it's Spain's turn," England sighed. "And you don't have anything in English?"

"No!" Spain responded, just as blatantly cheerful as Italy.

"Okay. America—"

"You don't have to tell me it's my own turn," America interrupted, poking through his tiles. "A-ha!" He clacked down six tiles.

" 'Learned' is not a word! How many times must I tell you this?" England shouted.

"Is, too!"

"Is not!"

"Is, too!"

"Are we, like, playing this game or not?" Poland complained.

"Sorry." America leaned back, stubbornly not moving his tiles. England grumbled but decided to work with it. He laid down letters to make "effort".

"Finally." Poland scrutinized the board for a second before finally spelling out "fabulously".

"Wha-hey! How do you have that many letters?" England exclaimed.

"I have my methods," Poland replied evenly. "Liet, your turn."

"Right…" Lithuania poked through his rack, which was suspiciously empty-looking, before saying he didn't have any words.

After France put something else inappropriate down, Italy decided to go off and just stack the letters into pretty piles, and America decided to try adding "color" without a "u" to the board, England just gave up the game.

America, announcing loudly that he had won, put up the board before anyone could prove him otherwise. "Can we go back to the game now?"

"Yes," England grumbled, although it was obvious America hadn't been asking him, while Switzerland gave his approval as well.

America whooped, taking the lead back to the field to get back started again


	15. Ninja Powers Activate

Team America took the outfield, while the opponents scurried to their dugout.

To their surprise, when Team Japan assembled back in the shack, Japan was standing, gripping a bat, all signs of fatigue completely gone.

"Are we ready to resume?" he started solidly, looking about the dugout. The other players nodded, slowly shaking off their confusion at Japan's sudden recovery.

"All right." Japan leaned the bat over his shoulder but still addressed the team. "We are behind twelve runs, and it's the bottom of the sixth inning. There's not much time left, so we will all have to put in our best efforts to catch up! If everyone here does his best, we can win this yet! Are you ready for this?" Most of the other players cheered.

"Good!" Japan turned around, facing toward home plate. "Let's do this."

* * *

America watched curiously as Japan stepped up strongly to home base.

"Looks like you got rested enough," commented the brunette.

Japan's only reply was getting into batting position.

"Okay, then," America responded, pulling his arm back, "you want to be serious—let's play serious!" He slung the baseball forward in a fastball a tornado would be hard-pressed to match.

Yet Japan managed to hit it anyway.

With a deafening _crack, _the ball rebounded from the bat and flew far past the back fence.

"Home run. One run this inning for Team Japan," Switzerland announced slowly.

Without a word, Japan walked back to the dugout.

* * *

"Looks like someone had a better break than the rest of us, aru," commented China.

"I have my methods," Japan replied neutrally.

England raised an eyebrow suspiciously. "Am I correct to assume it's the kind of 'method' you'll be regretting in the morning?"

"Very much so."

"Hm."

Having a few chaotic attempts to enhance physical strength with magic, England seemed to be the closest to understanding what had happened.

"So, let's hurry and continue with the game," Japan concluded. "Who bats next?" No one volunteered immediately, so, rushing a bit, Japan appointed England to the plate.

* * *

"Strike one!" England adjusted his grip on the bat while Japan stayed poised at the edge of the dugout, ready to rush to the batter's aid when needed.

As it happened, the help was needed on the very next pitch.

The baseball soared toward left field while England and Japan both pelted toward Prussia.

Neither Canada nor Finland could reach the ball before it thunked down onto the grass. Although Canada was far closer, he decided he'd rather let the play go a little longer than get slammed into the ground by the oblivious fielders again.

Meanwhile, England and Japan were feet away from first base. Prussia, having recovered a little from the break—although he wouldn't admit it—was ready and took the first chance he got to pounce on the baserunner. England swerved to the side, but the first baseman still caught his arm and plowed him into the ground. Japan quickly joined the fray, grabbing Prussia's shoulders to pry him off the runner.

In the outfield, Finland had reached the ball and decided to toss it to Poland since he would probably tag England out more easily. The second baseman caught the toss and jogged toward the scene.

Japan had gotten the whole of Prussia's torso off the ground, but the first baseman was stubbornly keeping England down with his knees and feet. Poland scurried over the last few feet, and, realizing England wouldn't have enough time to run to the base anyway, Japan gave up on just lifting Prussia—

—And instead heaved to throw the both of them the foot or so to first base.

Poland couldn't keep up as the mass of nations tumbled onto the square of white n a very uncomfortable tangle. But somewhere in this tangle, England's elbow touched the plate.

"Safe!" Switzerland announced. "England hits a single!"

The knot of players gradually unwound, leaving Japan to pant and walk briskly to the dugout, and Prussia and England to glare each other down at the base.

* * *

"Wo-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-ow!" Italy started cheerfully as Japan reentered the dugout. "That was _cool_, Japan!"

Japan's only response was a brief nod before he turned back to the rest of the players. "Who's next?" he said, already regaining his breath.

"I'll go, aru."

* * *

"Strike two!"

Japan tensed as Germany tossed the ball back to the pitcher once more. America pulled his arm back again and fired off the next pitch.

With a grunt, China brought the bat around faster than he had last time and hit. The baseball flew off toward third base while China and Japan started running.

Japan sprinted across the first side of the basepath just in front of China, who stumbled a bit but managed to keep running.

Romano was set and determined to catch the ball this time—after all, he just _knew _he was more than good enough to do it—and had his glove up in the air high. He was totally ready for the ball to descend.

Not so much for Japan to ram into him from the side.

The third baseman went over like a toppling Jenga game, while Japan smacked the ball to the ground to ensure no one would catch it. The Oriental nation grabbed the baseball off the ground and started running out to the outfield.

England had set foot on second base by the time China and Prussia had started their rematch of sorts. The two had gotten back into a shoving battle just in front of first base, and still neither was ready to give way.

Japan had nearly made it to the back fence with no one in his way.

At least, he didn't _notice _anyone in the way.

Canada, having had this sort of thing happen to him far too often today, stepped out of the way, but kept his left foot planted where it was. It was only a matter of seconds before Japan's foot caught on the Westerner's sneaker, sending the darker-haired nation falling face-first. Although making an awkward imprint in the grass, Japan kept his grip on the ball when Canada made a grab for it.

Meanwhile, the scene at first base had become more violent but no closer to its end. The simple shoving competition had given way to wrestling and ponytail-pulling.

England crossed third base.

Japan, in the meantime, had rolled over and gotten back onto his feet, Canada unable to do so much as touch the baseball. It was a perfect stalemate.

But of course Romano had to go looking for payback.

The Italian had recovered and come up to the scene at the fence by now. While Canada couldn't quite pin Japan down, Romano managed to actually help for once, and the two fielders succeeded in cornering the Asian.

Back at first base, America had decided to join the fray. This move ended in China being held back without struggle and Prussia muttering something about how he had everything under control in the first place.

"Safe!" the umpire called, referring of course not to China but to England, who had crossed home plate. "Two runs for Team Japan in this inning!"

The leader of the aforementioned team was currently smushed into the corner of the outfield and refusing to relinquish the ball. Canada could not pry him off the wall, while Romano's attempt to pull up the Asian's feet was sharing the same un-success.

"Yo, Japan!" Prussia called loudly. "You might as well give up! Ponytail Boy over here isn't going anywhere!"

Japan, able to make out the scene between the two outfielders' heads, knew this well enough. The runner wasn't going anywhere.

That is, unless Japan got over to help.

Japan pushed himself back from the wall, but Canada and Romano were determined not to let him get away. For a moment it seemed they were going to succeed and Japan's venture was hopeless.

And then Japan attacked Canada's injured shoulder.

The left fielder instinctively jerked back, and Japan fled the area.

China finally stopped his doomed attempt to escape America's grasp as Prussia prepared to take on the oncoming nation.

Japan, keeping the baseball tightly gripped in his right hand, did not slow down even within a meter of the first baseman.

The only thing that brought him to a stop was Prussia grabbing his left arm.

With a victorious grunt, Prussia pulled down the arm hard, slamming Japan against the ground. Stubbornly hanging onto the ball, Japan took only moments to recover from the impact.

Prussia responded by kneeing the Asian in the stomach and grabbing his arm again. Japan yanked his arm out of Prussia's grasp, but not before America swatted the ball from his other hand. The pitcher had to go back to restraining China immediately, so Prussia and Japan were the only ones in the race for the ball.

Prussia shoved Japan to the side with his shoulder, while Japan stuck an arm out to hold the first baseman back. Unable to push Japan's arm back out of the way, Prussia instead decided to put both his hands on Japan's arm and flip himself over it.

This would have worked out a lot better for the German had Japan not fallen askew from the weight shift.

Now both of the nations were sprawled over the ground, trying equally to crawl over to the baseball and push the other competitor down. Neither was making progress on either front.

America decided it would be a nice time to drag China over and bump the runner's foot against the baseball.

"Out!" Switzerland finally called. "Three outs for Team Japan—end of inning! Switch positions for inning number seven!"

* * *

The scoreboard showed 19-9, Team America of course still in the lead. The leader of said team felt the slightest bit of concern at the sudden shift in things, but shrugged it off. They were still ahead ten runs! And everyone knew there was no way _anyone _could win a _baseball _game against America.

At least, America knew that.

So he was nowhere near as occupied in thought as the rest of—well, _most _of the rest of—his team when he looked around to determine the next batter.

"So, who's left? Turkey, Romano, Greece, Prussia… That it?" America tallied.

"And me," Canada sighed, apparently believing deep down that someone would hear him for once.

"So, uh… Turkey, you're not going," he started. "And then… Prussia won't go until he can score something more than one run. And we should save Greece for something like that, too. So… Romano, go ahead," he decided, tossing a bat lightly to the Italian.

* * *

Romano stepped up to the plate with a bit of swagger, sure he would do better this time. Japan didn't react much other than winding up and slinging a ball forward.

Romano jumped back instinctively, eyes widening. For the latest pitch was nothing like that of the worn-out Japan of the last inning. It was practically America-pitch-caliber.

"Strike one!"

China tossed the baseball back to the pitcher, and Romano shook himself, swearing not to be surprised by the next one.

He still was.

"Strike two!"

The next pitch was dealt, and Romano, by some unseen force, actually swung. The baseball rebounded from the bat and went flying toward third base.

Italy looked up at the ball curiously for a moment before realizing it was arcing toward him. He immediately yelped in fear, scrambling backward to avoid being hit.

Suppressing a sigh, Japan started running toward the baseball. The pitcher couldn't quite reach it in time; the thing landed in the grass at about the same time Romano got to first base. The Asian did pick the ball up then, though, forcing Romano to stay where he was.

"Safe. Romano hits a single."

* * *

"So…" America looked around the dugout, eventually settling his gaze on Prussia. "Is that a good enough setup, or…?"

"Nah," Prussia declined, crossing his arms. "I need at least two on base before I can do something awesome enough."

" 'Kay… Uh…" America looked around the dugout.

"I'll go," Canada said, grabbing a helmet and walking up before the ignorant team head could appoint someone else.

* * *

"Strike one!"

Inhaling, Canada readjusted his grip on the bat. Japan wound up and fired off the second pitch. With a grunt, Canada swung again, and the ball soared out toward center field.

France jogged forward, craning his neck to watch the baseball. He prepared to catch, but the ball fell just shy of his fingertips. Quickly picking up the ball, France turned toward first base and threw.

Of course, the baseball actually ended up sailing toward the pitcher, but it worked out well enough to keep Canada from progressing more than first base.

"Safe! Canada hits a single. Romano safely made it to second base and may stay there."

* * *

"Two people on base," America announced.

"Yep," Prussia responded, slapping on a batting helmet. He adjusted the cap a bit.

"Let's do this."


	16. Japan Used Selfdestruct

"Strike."

China chucked the baseball back to Japan while Prussia readjusted unfazed. The pitcher wound up and uncoiled, sending an air-splitting fastball that the batter just managed to hit toward first base.

"Why do I get the feeling this was intentional?" Lithuania muttered to himself, dubiously stepping back and into the ball's path.

Prussia pelted for the base, arriving at the scene when the baseball was centimeters from the first baseman's glove. Making a strong and somewhat overdramatic leap, Prussia pounced, bowling Lithuania over before the ball even grazed his gloved fingertips. The baseball thunked to the ground silently as Lithuania heaved a sigh. He didn't bother to sit up, because he knew he'd just get knocked right back down. Prussia stretched his hand out for the ball but found he couldn't quite reach it where he was.

Lithuania realized he could.

Nervously, the first baseman wrapped his hand around the baseball. Prussia, immediately figuring out the implications and the new possibility of getting tagged out, tumbled backward, and with a rapidly-executed somersault, got his butt on base.

"Safe," Switzerland called it. "Prussia hits a single."

Prussia glared at the first baseman.

"I'm going to die for this, aren't I?" Lithuania sighed.

"Yup."

* * *

"So… Who can hit a grand slam?" America started, easily pushing off the disappointment at Prussia's not-so-awesome at-bat. "Uh…" The pitcher suddenly seemed to notice the snoozing figure slumped up against the wall.

"Greece!" America barked excitedly. "You're up!"

Turkey crossed his arms, staring in jealousy—although he'd never admit it—as Greece slowly unclosed his eyes and took the bat.

* * *

France sighed as Greece stepped up to the plate. "What are the chances he _won't _hit it over the fence?" he mumbled half-rhetorically.

"I'd say they're quite good," replied the left fielder.

France looked over at England, who was flipping the pages of a small, black book.

"What are you planning?" the center fielder asked slowly.

"Something that will keep Greece nice and distracted… Aha!"

France leaned over England's shoulder curiously., but the left fielder, shoved him away.

"If you must know, I'm going to summon a black cat," he answered testily. "Or a black kitten, to be more precise."

"But don't most of your summonings involve you with an unattractive dark hood on standing in a dark room and—"

"Yes, but I'm summoning a _cat_," England interrupted. "If they weren't easier to call forth, why would they be the preferred black magician's assistant?"

France shrugged as England returned his attention to the book, sliding a finger down the page.

"All right, then…"

* * *

Greece geared up to swing, rolling one of his shoulders before looking up at the pitcher.

And then he spotted the adorable black kitten bounding adorably toward him.

Completely losing his focus on the game, Greece lowered his stance and watched the kitten leap into the infield.

"It _is _working!" England said quietly but victoriously, looking at France scoffingly. "Skeptic."

France just looked back away toward the scene. And then he started laughing.

"Wait—what's so…" England trailed off, his gaze meeting the infield.

"I don't think this is quite what you were trying for," France commented through stifled snickers.

And it certainly wasn't. While Greece had put down the bat and loped over to the kitten to pet it, so had Italy. And Japan.

So, rather than distracting the batter from getting a grand slam, the plan had instead worked to put off the entire game for a few minutes while members of both teams cooed over the kitten's adorable adorableness.

Realizing the current chain of events was unlikely to reverse itself in the way he needed it to, England begrudgingly read a few more words from his book. After one last adorable meow, the kitten disappeared in a poof of smoke.

The game was put off for another moment as the players recovered from the confusion of this happening, and then everyone went back to his place.

"Your plan wasn't so foolproof after all, hmm, Angleterre?"

"Shut up."

* * *

"Home run! That's four runs for Team America this inning."

Japan sighed as Greece ambled back to the dugout.

And recovered a bit when Turkey stepped up to the plate.

Although he seemed to be trying a bit more, the Anatolian nation still struck out immediately.

The scoreboard flickered to show an out for Team America a few digital boxes away from their overall score of 23.

* * *

"Well, Japan," America started, tapping his heel on home plate, "looks like that amazing comeback of yours ends right here!"

Japan narrowed his eyes. "We shall see."

Without another word, the pitcher coiled up and fried another pitch.

"Strike."

Confidence untouched, America readied himself for the next throw. Japan pitched, and the batter brought the bat around hard, smacking the baseball in an arc dangerously close to the center field fence.

France, in anticipation of America's strength, had already gotten to a few feet from the fence. He kept backing up, holding his glove to the sky as the ball approached. The baseball hit the top of the back fence, and France lunged for it—

—Only to miss the thing by a few centimeters and end up flipping himself over the fence. He landed with an "oomph" in the bleachers behind.

No one could recall a time when England laughed harder.

"Home run," Switzerland announced. "One more run this inning for Team America."

America trotted back to the dugout laughing as France climbed back into the outfield moaning about bruises ruining his perfect complexion.

* * *

Germany was the next one up to the plate. Japan wound up unmercifully, flinging a fastball that hit China's glove before he could blink.

"Strike."

China tossed the ball back, and Japan geared up to pitch again. He hurled the ball forward again, and Germany swung and missed.

"Strike two!"

"Come on, West!" Prussia jeered from the dugout, his hands cupped to his mouth. "You can't do better than _that_?"

Germany growled softly but shook his head. He didn't need to be getting distracted.

Japan coiled up and fired off a screwball, at which Germany swung.

"Strike three! Two outs for Team America!" the umpire bellowed.

Germany strode back to the dugout, although he really didn't want to go back in the same room as his brother. Prussia did have a tendency to jab at him annoyingly…

And, of course, today was no exception.

Germany sighed, facepalming as Prussia taunted and poked him mockingly for a few minutes.

* * *

Meanwhile, Romano, seeing the perfect opportunity to show up the potato-freak, had stepped up to the plate.

But it was kind of hard to do much better than Germany when the Italian struck out in a matter of seconds.

"Three outs for Team America—switch positions!"

* * *

As America's team scattered about the outfield, Japan was in his dugout putting on a helmet.

"U-Um…" Latvia raised his hand timidly. Japan acknowledged him with a glance and a "yes?".

"W-Well… A lot of us haven't batted yet," the Baltic continued lamely.

Japan took hold of a bat before looking back at Latvia evenly.

"You may all bat once I am finished. " Japan left the dugout without another word.

* * *

"E-e-e-eh?" America started confusedly as the batter stepped up. "H-Hey! How are you batting again already?" he demanded.

"I decided I would bat again," Japan answered simply.

"But what about the rule you said?"

"I never made that a rule. I simply said it wouldn't be fair to the other players. Just like—" he looked pointedly at the scoreboard— "it would be unfair to the players to let the score remain so dismal.

America looked back at the scoreboard—23-9—and turned back around laughing.

"All right, then! You asked for it!"

The pitcher pulled back and sent a fastball flying toward home plate.

Japan smacked it over the fence.

"Home run," Switzerland said, the scoreboard adjusting as he called it.

Japan geared up to bat again.

America just stared. "Uh…"

"I am going to be batting for a while," the other team leader informed him.

"Uh, okay," America responded slowly before shrugging and pitching again.

Japan once again hit a home run.

* * *

A few minutes later, the score was tied.

America gaped disbelievingly at the scoreboard as the Asian got ready to hit again.

"This just isn't right," the pitcher said blankly, still eyeing the scoreboard like he expected his team to be far in the lead again.

"Pitch, please," Japan called, seeming a bit impatient.

"Okay…" America hesitated, but went ahead and whipped out another fastball.

Japan swung hard, and the pitcher watched as the baseball flew once again over the back fence.

This, of course, meant he didn't notice the batter collapsing to the ground behind him.

Some in the dugouts did, though; England and China, followed shortly by Italy and Germany, hurried toward home base. They tried to rouse Japan to no avail; he remained unconscious. He didn't seem to need medical attention, though; he just looked thoroughly worn.

"Hey—what happened?" America exclaimed, turning back around to see just as England and China were lifting Japan out of the dirt.

"What do you _think_ happened?" England countered sardonically.

America looked at him for a second and blinked. "Aliens stole his brains?"

America promptly received a baseball glove to the face, while England, both hands now bare, grumbled and started the group back toward Team Japan's dugout.

After at-bats from France, Spain, and Latvia, the batting team had gained one more run and two more outs.

"End of inning," Switzerland announced. "Take positions for inning number eight…"

* * *

The members of Team Japan, their pitcher still unconscious, hovered just outside the dugout.

"So…" China started, "who's going to pitch now, aru?"

The team members inspected each other, no one volunteering.

"How about we have England do it?" finally suggested Estonia.

"Eh? Me?"

"Yeah. I mean…" Estonia nodded at home plate. "You chucked a glove from there to the pitcher's mound, and you still smacked America with it straight in the face."

England looked over at the empty mound. "Well, worth a shot. But… who's going to play left field, then?"

"I could try to cover them both," France proposed weakly.

The newly-appointed pitcher scoffed. "You'd be throwing the ball past the bleachers—we already know you can't play there!" He sighed. "But it's not like we have any other players to recruit… We'll just have to decide which position is the least vital, I guess."

"I could play!" called a voice faded by the distance downward it had to travel.

The umpire looked up at the billboard and the girl standing just beside it.

"No, you're not playing," he responded immediately.

"Why not?" she responded, only a slight trace of disappointment in her voice.

"These idiots would probably run you over if you touched the baseball."

"You could make a rule against it."

"They'd try it, anyway."

"But… I wouldn't really get hurt… And they really need someone to play for them…"

"It's too dangerous."

"_I'll _promise not to try and run her over," England vouched, the not-currently-oblivious members of his team nodding in agreement. America's team soon followed.

"See? It's safe enough," Liechtenstein responded, walking slowly toward the billboard platform's ladder.

"It is not! You—you could get splinters from the bat!"

"_Some_one's a little overprotective," muttered England under his breath.

Switzerland turned his head slowly toward the speaker. "I'm a little _what_?"

"Um… Nothing," the pitcher responded. "But if she doesn't play, I'm not sure we'll be able to properly continue the game."

"The game hasn't been 'proper' for about three innings," France commented.

England narrowed his eyes at the speaker. "So Japan practically kills himself for the chance this team could win, but we'll throw it away just because the rules haven't been that great?"

France shrugged, defenseless.

"Right." England turned back toward home plate with a sigh. "So…" He trailed off.

"Hm?" Switzerland, sensing the change in focus, turned around to see what England was looking at.

The umpire stared at the newcomer. "Um… What are you doing here, Hungary?"

Hungary clasped her hands together in front of her. "I just stopped by to return that book I borrowed. I just set it on the table out there." The brunette looked around. "So what's going on in here?"

"We're playing baseball," America informed her proudly.

Prussia started out of the dugout, and Hungary frowned a bit when she caught sight of him. "Great timing, Hungary," the self-proclaimed "awesome" nation said. "The guys over there need another player." He grinned.

Hungary looked back at him evenly. "Well, I'm sorry to disappoint, but I'm not interested."

"Oh, you know you want to," Prussia said.

Hungary's smile faltered almost imperceptibly. "I don't know why you'd think I'd want to play some boys' game."

"You totally want to," Prussia continued singsongily.

"I don't," Hungary replied, gritting her teeth a bit.

England finally decided to intervene. "We really do need another player, Hungary. It's only… two more innings, anyway."

"Yeah?" Hungary responded, quickly stifling the excitement in her voice. She wipped her hands on her dress. "Well… I guess, if I'm really needed that badly…"

"You are."

Hungary crossed her arms behind her back. "Okay, then. I'll go ahead and play. Where am I needed?"

"Left field," England informed her, finally striding to the pitcher's mound.


	17. Great Idea

A/N: Sorry for the long update time! Shouldn't happen again.

Prussia was, of course, the first to step up to bat for Team Japan's new lineup. Now was the time for revenge. He'd carry his team to victory, humiliating Hungary—although she obviously wasn't going to admit it—by whooping her in something athletic.

Because he'd obviously be able to. After all, he was awesome.

* * *

Still a bit unsure, England coiled up for the pitch. He hurled the ball toward home plate.

"Ball."

China had to go over a few steps to retrieve the baseball before he could toss it back.

"Well, don't make creaming you _too _easy," Prussia responded sardonically.

Furrowing his infamously bizarre eyebrows, England prepared another pitch and sent the ball flying again. Prussia got the chance to hit the ball this time, and he did—the orb of leather went sailing off to far left field.

Hungary, not nearly close enough to the fence to catch, just hurried backward, her dress hiked up a bit in her clutches to keep her from getting tangled up. She reached the ball about the time Prussia passed first base. Kneeling down nimbly to pick it up, she examined the baseball in her grasp for a few moments before looking back at the infield.

Prussia was halfway to second base when he was suddenly nailed in the stomach by the baseball. Startled, the runner didn't regain his balance and ended in a heap in the dirt. He clutched at his stomach in disbelief of what had just happened.

"Out!" the umpire announced, a bit confused but by now knowing nothing was going normally in this game. "One out for Team America."

Hungary trotted back to the middle of left field, her maliciously-amused smile too stubborn to hide.

* * *

Upon receiving a few looks stepping into the dugout, Prussia loudly announced that was the fluke of the century.

Not realizing he was the only one giving a vocal response, Finland replied with a very unconvinced "uh-huh".

Prussia instantly shot a glare at the blonde, who flinched.

"Whatever," the German finally sighed in resignation, turning back around. It's one out. I can still kick their butts."

Germany closed his eyes to prevent him from rolling them, while America responded with a loud "Yes, we can!" The pitcher struck a pose. "Because no baseball team of tyranny can defeat the hero! I will stand for democracy and…"

"Did he forget we're playing a baseball game?" mumbled Canada. No one responded, of course.

"Did you forget we're playing a baseball game?" the opposing pitcher finally started, arms crossed in impatience.

America's rant, which had no sidetracked to 1812 somehow, trailed off as the game slowly re-registered in America's mind.

"I did not forget!" America finally called back loudly.

"Then send someone to bat already!"

"Don't you boss me around!"

"Oh-em-gee," Poland sighed exasperatedly, "_I'll _go."

"Finland, you bat next!" America interrupted quickly, pushing a confused Finland toward the edge of the dugout.

Poland stared, wondering if America was seriously that much of a control freak.

That mental debate didn't last long.

* * *

"Ball two!"

China threw the baseball back to England yet again.

"Doing a _great _job, pitcher!" Prussia yowled from his dugout.

"Says the one with a baseball imprint on his stomach," England retorted before coiling up again to pitch.

"Ball three!"

America cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled, "You got nothing on us!" before chanting "walk" and convincing the rest of the dugout to join in.

With a subconscious growl, the pitcher unwound sharply, releasing the baseball.

Finland finally got to swing, but inadvertently sent the ball sailing higher than farther.

England ran backwards a bit, glove in the air. He could easily tell the ball was headed straight for him.

As for Prussia coming straight toward him, not so much.

The albino crashed into the pitcher from the side and knocked him down. Finland warily started for first base as Prussia rolled off England to snag the baseball first. Despite a quick recovery on the pitcher's part, Prussia had gotten to his feet before England and was off and running before the pitcher could trip him.

Labeling left field as an absolute danger zone, Prussia was instead headed for right field.

The German easily got through the first base/second base gap. Having no idea what else to do, Latvia backed out of the way as Prussia approached.

The rest of the outfield, for the most part, was on the move. France and the left fielder were both running over, but Hungary was too far away to get there anytime soon.

Lithuania took a step back as Finland passed first.

Prussia easily made it to the straight side of the fence by the time France was even halfway through right field. Hungary was still even farther away, though she was approaching at a slightly higher speed. The baserunner was halfway to second by the time France finally caught up.

Prussia, baseball firmly in his right hand, started off with a hard kick to France's stomach. The center fielder stumbled back, not falling until Prussia knocked his feet from under him. For good measure, the German put his foot down on France's chest. Finland had gotten to second base by the time France finally bucked Prussia back off.

With a surprised grunt, Prussia took a step back to keep himself from falling over. France got back to his feet seconds before Prussia charged him, bowling him over again. Planting his foot once again on the opponent's chest, Prussia cackled while France swore in his native tongue, further amusing the albino.

He wasn't amused enough to not realize Hungary was a meter away.

Now stepping calmly, Hungary closed the gap to a few inches and smiled at Prussia.

"Ball, please," she said.

Prussia glanced down at the baseball in his hand to avoid showing fear from the psycho-girl's short distance away. Still intimidated out of his mind but sure as heck not going to let everyone else on the diamond see it, he said no.

Hungary remained steady. "Give me the ball."

Prussia didn't.

"This is the last time I'm going to ask nicely. Give me the ball."

Unable to keep from trembling a little, Prussia weighed his options for a second, and then took off running.

He got about two steps away before a loud clang signaled his head getting hit with a frying pan.

"Where were you even hiding that thing?" Prussia screamed, stumbling onward. Hungary's only reply was an almost-inaudible bit of mad laughter and another whack from the pan. Prussia finally fell to the ground, dropping the baseball, which the left fielder quickly picked back up.

At the infield, Finland was moments away from home.

"China!" Hungary called, sending the ball flying the catcher's way.

China had to take a few steps to his left, but caught the throw. Inches away, Finland didn't have a chance.

"Out!" Switzerland called as the blonde was tagged. "Two outs for Team America!"

The aforementioned team stared out at Prussia, still prone on the ground.

"_Please _tell me he's not unconscious," Germany groaned.

Apparently hearing this, Prussia let out a moan.

" 'Kay… Who, like, wants to drag him back over here?" Poland started.

America scrutinized the scene before yelling, "France! Haul him back over here, will ya?"

France, still in late stages of recovery from the last play, complained but, of course, was too wary of what America would do otherwise not to comply.

* * *

After Prussia was safely returned to the dugout and Switzerland offered aspirin again—he reminded himself to thank Hungary later for his ability to make the sale—America had sent Poland to home plate.

"Strike two!" the umpire called, the number of strikes and balls equal now. China lobbed the baseball back to the pitcher.

With one more coil and uncoil on England's part, the ball zipped to home plate, and Poland finally socked it off toward first base.

Looking up at the impending object, Lithuania wavered. He couldn't quite figure where it would land and ended up standing in the middle of his base. Coincidentally, this just so happened to be Poland's destination.

"You trying to block me from getting to first base, Liet?" Poland asked, gleam in his eye as he approached.

"Eh?" Lithuania allowed himself a glance to see the incoming baserunner. "Uh-uh, no!" he defended quickly, waving his hands in front of him to complement the statement. "I just—" He cut off speech when keeping his balance from Poland shoving him to the side became more important.

Poland laughed to himself, staying firmly on the base while Lithuania stumbled forward. Seeming to suddenly remember the baseball was coming, the first baseman looked back up, involuntarily yelping at the proximity of the ball. He shoved his glove out toward it, and the baseball started to roll off his fingertips. With a gasp, he clamped his other hand on the ball to keep it from falling.

"Out!" Switzerland announced. "Three outs for Team America—switch positions!"

* * *

Assuming control due to his new position, England analyzed those yet to bat. Estonia, Lithuania, Italy, and Hungary were up for contest. Not sure how the newcomer batted but desperately hoping it was better than the other three, the pitcher told Hungary to bat next.

* * *

Hungary adjusted the batting helmet as she stepped up to the plate.

"_I call left field_!" Prussia suddenly shouted, hurrying away from first base.

"Wha?" America turned around to see the albino scurrying away like an intimidated Baltic. "You scared or something?"

"Prussia stopped in his tracks to face America. "No! I… I don't want to deprive your team of the awesome me, so I'd better make sure I'm somewhere where… uh… it'll be harder to get hit in the head with the baseball."

"Oh, okay!" the pitcher responded enthusiastically. "Go ahead!"

Prussia hurried off and was soon standing next to Canada.

"Am I going to first base, then?" the North American nation asked faintly.

"Huh?" Prussia looked over at Canada, whom he apparently hadn't quite noticed before then. "Oh. Yeah. Go get 'em!"

Canada rolled his eyes a little but jogged for first.

* * *

"Strike one." Germany tossed the baseball back to the pitcher.

Hungary got back into a relaxed batting stance. The second time America pitched, she swung faster, but still couldn't hit it any more than she could a fired bullet.

"Strike two!"

Gearing up one more time and gripping the bat like a frying pan handle, Hungary brought the wood around hard, to no avail.

"Strike three—one out this inning for Team Japan," Switzerland announced as Hungary tucked the bat under her arm and returned to the dugout.

America wondered why Prussia was suddenly so eager to get back on first base.

* * *

"All right, Lithuania, you're next," England decided, trying to keep the disappointment of Hungary's run out of his voice.

* * *

"Strike two!"

Lithuania exhaled, getting back into position. The pitcher drew back his arm and fired off another one. At last, the ball collided with the bat and flew off to third base.

Romano couldn't quite decide whether he was going to catch it or not. He took a step forward, into the path of the baseball, then back out.

The shortstop rolled his eyes—although you could hardly see the gesture under his mask—and hurried over to catch it himself.

"Out of the way," Turkey demanded, nudging Romano away from the ball's trajectory.

Romano stumbled to the side a bit but soon shoved Turkey away. "Watch where you're pushing, you stubble-faced bas—"

"Why don't you watch we're _you're _pushing?" the shortstop retorted, not about to lose the newest competition no matter whom it was against. He forced Romano away.

"Will you focus on _catching the ball_?" the catcher bellowed.

The two finally stopped to look back up. On registering the baseball was almost upon them, they put their gloves out to catch.

One of them probably would have gotten it if Romano hadn't decided to push Turkey back one last time.

Instead, the shortstop stumbled backward, and, being the baseball genius he was, Romano couldn't manage to catch the ball himself. The baseball bounced onto the grass.

"What'd you do that for?" the shortstop demanded, scrambling to grab the ball before the third baseman could screw things up further.

"Sore loser!"

Turkey finally grit his teeth and decided to ignore the Italian.

Meanwhile, at first base, Lithuania had not bothered to put up a fight and was currently pinned to the ground by Prussia again. Despite the best efforts of first Estonia, then China as well, Prussia wouldn't stand for getting beaten. Estonia and China had gone down with injuries about the time the ball was finally thrown toward first. Prussia easily caught it and tagged Lithuania out.

"Two outs for Team Japan."

* * *

Hopelessly, England had sent Estonia to bat and got just about what he expected.

"Strike three!" the umpire called. "Three outs for Team Japan. Take your positions for inning number—" he looked up at the scoreboard—

"Nine."


	18. Just a Bit Dense

As England took his place on the pitcher's mound, America stepped up to bat.

"We haven't gone yet!" Turkey informed him from the dugout.

"Well, don't worry! You can always go later!" America responded, getting into his batting stance enthusiastically. "Right now, it's the ninth inning! The ultimate showdown the whole game's been leading up to! And I'm going to start it off with all the power of a true hero!"

"You're kidding me, right?" the pitcher deadpanned.

"You're just scared 'cuz you know I'm going to whip you," the batter retorted.

"Oh, is that so?" England growled, unable to stay unaffected. Without another objection to America's batting, he wound up and fired off the first pitch of the inning.

"Ball."

America burst out laughing while the pitcher turned a bit red with frustration and started swearing out the batter.

"Hey, hey, don't blame me for that!" America choked out between guffaws. "Now how about you actually pitch to _me_ this time? Or are you too afraid I'll hit a home run?" America continued laughing as China got the baseball back to England.

Preparing silently, the pitcher threw the next pitch hard as he could.

With a suspiciously hollow sound, the baseball hit America in the forehead. The pitcher snickered to himself while the batter staggered backwards, spluttering.

"Now, how exactly is it that you only manage to pitch where you're aiming when America's face is the target?" China noted, leaning over to get the baseball. England shrugged.

"C'mon, dude! At least play fair!" America protested as Switzerland announced the pitch was a ball.

"I'm the pitcher, and I threw the ball," England deadpanned. "What's not fair about that?"

"There's a lot of things wrong with aiming for the batter's face!" America retorted.

Rolling his eyes, the pitcher corrected, "There _are_."

America grunted in exasperation. "Crap, man! For once in your life, can you stop being a grammar Nazi?"

"A what?" Germany asked slowly.

America turned over to face the dugout and the befuddled nation. "Oh, you know, a grammar Nazi! Those idiots who are too obsessed with grammar to let people have free speech!"

Germany's expression didn't change.

"What?" America responded. "You've never heard that term before?"

Germany shook his head slowly.

"Well, frick, it's just an expression. Why're you so weirded out by—" The batter cut off abruptly, finally figuring out why Germany wouldn't be a fan of the term "grammar Nazi".

"Oh."

England facepalmed.

"Okay, then!" America started, turning back around. "Let's get back to the game."

Ready to chew out America for his blunt ignorance but a bit more concerned with showing him up," England prepared to pitch. This time he didn't aim for America's face; the baseball still managed to go about where it was supposed to. With an exaggerated grunt, America smacked the ball and took off running.

The baseball soared across center field, and America's grin made it increasingly obvious he was only running this one to show off.

The aforementioned grin grew a lot wider when the umpire announced the home run.

"Maybe you _shoulda _just walked me!" America hollered, leisurely rounding second base. "May have been a lot less humiliating for you!" Laughing, America trotted over the basepath, holding his hand up for a high-five as he passed Italy. Obliviously cheerful as always, the third baseman returned the celebration.

"No fraternizing with the enemy!" the pitcher shouted.

Italy became panicked at England's fierceness. "Germany!' he wailed, having a long-standing fear of the island nation. "England's scaring me!"

"What are you, five?" the pitcher snorted, turning around. From the dugout, Germany was giving him a warning glare. "Wh-what? You can't be serious!" England protested, but Germany kept on. Feeling like he was being reprimanded by a judgemental mother for picking on a younger sibling, England just frowned back, thankful for the distraction when America returned to home plate and stopped. He knelt to pick up the bat and got back into a grinning batting stance.

"You're not batting again," England informed him.

"Yes, I am," America informed him right back. "If Japan can bat…" America looked up at the 25-24 scoreboard and tried to subtract 9 from 25 for a few moments. "…however many times he batted, how come I can't go a few times in a row?"

"You're not Japan."

"I noticed, thanks."

England narrowed his eyes. "I'm not pitching to you again."

"Okay, okay, I get it. You're too close to losing as is, and you know I'd smack it out of the park every time. It's a perfectly acceptable strategy for a sissy like you."

All members of Team Japan that had hopes of winning facepalmed.

"I'll show _you_ sissy!"

* * *

By the time the scoreboard read 25-34 in favor of Team America, England was starting to think this wasn't such a crash-hot idea after all. But he couldn't stop it! To just back down and admit America was a far better hitter than he a pitcher? That wasn't going to happen! But what else could he do? He'd already tried all the pitching tricks he could think of—most of them ended up as balls—and they had already established a rule of no one attacking the batter.

But… if the batter just happened to get tripped by a force no one could see…

"Mind if we take a quick water break?" the pitcher started, tossing the baseball into his glove.

"What, tired already?" America taunted.

"Just thirsty," England rebutted. "Aren't you?"

"Eh, sure," the batter conceded with a shrug. "Water break."

* * *

The nearest source of water was a set of two water fountains just past the restrooms. With so many players deciding to go ahead and take a drink, and half of them arguing amongst themselves about the sure-to-be victor, all England had to do to not be noticed was stand silently in the back. Slipping a hand into his pants pocket, he swiftly removed its contents: a small but well-crafted instrument that looked suspiciously like a miniature version of Queen Susan's horn. Taking another glance around to make sure he wasn't being watched—Poland and Prussia were currently fighting for first rights to the not-for-handicapped-people fountain—England put the horn to his lips and blew. An almost squeaky high note followed—although no one in the room could hear it—and England quickly put the device back in his pocket.

The line had shifted forward two more people by the time Flying Mint Bunny dive-bombed England.

"England!" the creature cried joyously, nuzzling up against the blonde's neck.

"It's good to see you, too," England replied, all traces of harshness vanishing from his face.

Flying Mint Bunny nodded agreement. "So, what's going on?" it started innocently, deciding to hover just inside England's line of sight. "Usually it's pretty bad when you blow the horn, but you don't look like you've been eating whole boxes of chocolate or _anything_!"

"Um, n-nothing of that sort," England replied quickly, a little embarrassed by the mention of the most frequent occurrence in his fits of depression. He cleared his throat, once again checking to see if anyone was looking at him strangely. "This time, I have a mission for you!"

"Ooh! A mission!" Flying Mint Bunny flew a circuit around England's head in excitement. "What is it, what is it, what is it?"

"It could be dangerous," England warned, genuine concern for his dearest friend in his eyes.

Flying Mint Bunny grinned back daringly. "I can take anything you throw at me!"

England smiled broadly once again."Okay. Here's what I need you to do…"

* * *

A few minutes after the last player had taken a drink—it was Turkey, who would have finished a lot sooner if Greece hadn't "accidentally" pushed the masked nation's head into the fountain and started a small-scale battle—England was back on the pitcher's mound, and an unsuspecting America stood ready to bat with Flying Mint Bunny flitting about behind him.

Stifling a chuckle—it was too early to celebrate victory just yet—England wound up and threw the baseball. America swung at about the same strength as before.

"Strike."

America turned around in confusion, registering the ball in China's glove but not quite connecting it to the words. "…What?"

"I said strike," Switzerland repeated. "You didn't hit it."

"What?" America said again.

Switzerland frowned. "Do you see a baseball flying off over the fence right now?"America turned back around to check. "Nuh-uh."

"Then you didn't hit it there, did you?"

"No?"

"Everyone strikes sometimes," England put in, although the snicker in his voice kept the comment from being anything close to assuring.

America snapped his gaze to the pitcher. "What did you do?"

"I pitched?"

America frowned, still confused. "Okay… Let's get on with it. I'll hit a homer this time for sure!" The batter got back into position, while Flying Mint Bunny latched onto the top of the bat again.

England fired off the next pitch, miraculously not out of America's hitting range for the second time in a row. America swung again, but Flying Mint Bunny tugged the bat out of the ball's path.

"Strike two."

In disbelief, America' stared at the baseball that had somehow snuck behind him and looked back and forth between the ball and the pitcher—who was currently laughing his head off—for a minute.

"Umpire!" America finally called, pointing his bat at England. "Kick him out of the game! I think he took steroids during the break or something!"

"What?" Switzerland deadpanned.

"You heard me! There's no way _that _wimp—" England's eyebrow twitched— "could suddenly start throwing pitches too fast for _me _to hit without steroids!"

The umpire didn't move. "Do you even realize what you're saying?"

America stopped to think for a second. "Well, there wasn't enough time for him to go fall in a random vat of radioactive waste, so yeah."

Unable to tell whether America was being sarcastic or not, Switzerland just shook his head. "We don't have anyone to replace him if we _did _kick him out." Seeing America's indignant look, he added, "And you never said a rule about steroids, anyway."

Unable to come up with a rebuttal, America shut his mouth and turned back around.

"Oh, don't get too upset about it," England said, tossing the baseball straight up and catching it. "Everyone gets tired." He couldn't stop himself from bursting into laughter again.

Flustered but determined to show England up, America got back into a batting position. The pitcher had to take a few deep breaths to make himself stop laughing before he could deliver the next pitch.

"Strike three—you're out."

"He's cheating!" America shouted, throwing his bat to the side in anger. While those in the dugout dodged the projectile—Italy screaming and running to the other side of the room, and Hungary deflecting the bat with her trusty frying pan—America stomped back toward his team's side.

"So if I'm such a _sissy_, and I struck you out, what does that make you?" England catcalled.

"We'll see what I am when you're up at bat!"

England suddenly seemed to think maybe this wasn't the most crash-hot idea he's had, either.

"England!"

The pitcher looked up to see Flying Mint Bunny floating toward him."How did I do?"

England smiled. "You did great! He never suspected a thing.

"Do you want me to try it with the next person to play?"

England thought for a moment. "Well, I'd like to see if I can throw the next one out myself, so…" England looked at Flying Mint Bunny for permission sheepishly.

"Okay, then! I'll cheer you on!" the magical creature said, going off to find a good place to perch.

"See? He's definitely on _something_!" America exclaimed.

England blinked, wondering what the idiot was talking about now, until he realized he'd slipped up and talked to his companion.

"I'm not 'on' anything!" England glared into the opponent's dugout. "Now, are you going to send someone else to bat or not?"

"Um, I'm already here," Canada said weakly.

"Ah?" England turned back toward home plate. "Well, you could have notified me earlier," he grumbled, covering up his embarrassment with anger.

"Sorry."

"Okay, then." England exhaled. "Let's continue, shall we?"


	19. Make a Fool of You

"Ball two."

China tossed the baseball back to the pitcher while wondering why the blonde seemed to have suddenly lost his edge.

Half-ashamed, half-embarrassed by the slow realization he wasn't really that great of a pitcher, England cleared his throat and wound up to try again.

The ball finally sped to the right area, and Canada swung quickly, the ball peeling off the bat with a loud clash. Much to Prussia's relief, the baseball soared toward center field rather than left.

As the batter approached first base, Prussia came speeding out of the dugout toward France. Unfortunately, the German couldn't do much to keep France from catching the ball, considering the center fielder was already near the fence, and the baseball seemed to be traveling about twice as fast as the hardly-rejuvenated "awesome" nation.

"Out!" called the umpire. "Two outs for Team America."

Canada and Prussia headed back to the dugout disappointedly, although the latter mumbled some words of consolation.

* * *

"T-two outs already," gaped America disbelievingly. "If this isn't proof he took steroids, nothing is! But Switzerland isn't going to believe me…" He sighed, still talking more to himself than anyone else in the dugout. "This calls for desperate measures!" He looked around the dugout for a second.

"I haven't gone yet," started Turkey.

"Pfft, forget you," America scoffed. "We need a better idea! Something…" Everyone in the dugout—at least, everyone awake at the moment—mentally facepalmed for the word they knew was coming.

"…heroic!"

And there it was.

"So… What exactly _is _your plan, then?" Germany started.

"Well…" Not sure how to start formulating his idea, America started with the most obvious and unquestionable tenet. "I'll be the hero, and you all will back me up!"

"Never would have guessed," muttered Germany.

"So…" America scratched his chin for no discernible reason other than looking deep in thought.

"Aha!" he suddenly announced, making Romano jump. "There's no rule against messing with the pitcher while he's throwing!"

"…Yes, there is," Germany replied slowly. "You added it in with the rule against attacking the batter…"

Apparently just now recalling this, America frowned. "Well… I'm the one that made that rule, so I should be able to take it back, right?"

"But I don't think England's going to approve of the rule change. It's pretty obvious what you'd be planning," Turkey grumbled.

"Well… Uh…" America moaned. "Well… We _are _9 runs ahead…" Finally inspired by this, he snapped his fingers, grin returning to his face. "We'll just have to throw away this at-bat, but that's okay as long as we fight back with the best defense we can muster! All right!" he exclaimed. "That's what we'll do! So, uh, Turkey, go ahead and bat or whatever."

"I appreciate your confidence in me," grumbled the Anatolian nation as he took a bat and started walking to home plate.

"Don't mention it!" America called back, a little confused Turkey saw that as confidence but glad he was being thanked for once!

* * *

"Strike three—you're out! That's three outs for Team America; switch positions!"

With the umpire's call, the teams moved along. The outfield was ready in moments—save for the right fielder.

"Will someone go wake Greece up?" the pitcher sighed. Suddenly his features squished into a look of confusion. "Wait… Did he bat this round?"

"No, don't think so," Turkey responded.

"Augh!" America thumped his pal against his forehead. "Well, thanks for telling me that before I sent _you _to bat!"

"Don't mention it!" the shortstop called back mockingly.

* * *

Meanwhile, back in Team Japan's dugout, it was too late in the game to make hasty decisions. While Italy was the only one left that hadn't batted this round, that wasn't an official rule, and there was no way England was going to forfeit an at-bat like that.

But he wasn't planning on going first, as he wasn't quite sure how long it would have taken for America's earlier threat to disappear from the younger nation's goldfish-worthy memory.

After a bit of internal monologue—mostly concerning that China and Spain were probably the next best batters after him but there was no way he would concede it so blatantly—the pitcher finally ordained Latvia to go first.

The young-looking nation made it to home plate unimpeded, but Germany paused when the batter stepped in front of him.

"Has Italy batted yet?" the catcher brought up.

America, with an overly-dramatic look of surprised leeriness, turned toward the opponents' dugout. "No, he _hasn't_!" he announced ostentatiously. "England," he continued in the matter in which one would scold a small boy, "are you trying to sucker me?"

The island nation scowled, swearing inwardly that America somehow managed to keep track of Team Japan even when he couldn't keep up with his own teammates.

"C'mon, send him out," America continued, grinning ear to ear that he had a free out on them.

Irritated but having no other choice now that he was caught, England sent Italy out to bat.

* * *

"Strike three—you're out," the umpire called. "That's one out for Team Japan this inning."

Liechtenstein adjusted the scoreboard accordingly while Italy scurried back to the dugout.

"Sorry about that," mumbled England, not sounding all that sincere, to the team in general. "You may go ahead now, Latvia."

But no sooner had the Baltic returned to home plate than objections were brought up again.

"Not batting first this time, England?" America hollered. The other team's pitcher held his tongue.

"Are you _scared_?" America taunted.

England's lower eyelid twitched, but he still managed not to say anything.

"Because you _know _I'm going to cream you, and you don't wanna be the reason poor Japan's team has to lose the game? I understand _completely_," America finished smoothly, still grinning.

England stood stock still, his back to the rest of the dugout.

"Three…" A few of Team Japan's members looked over at France as he continued. "Two…"

"You take that back, youbloody dolt!" screamed England right on cue, bounding out of the dugout and storming to home plate. "Give me those," he commanded Latvia, who bewilderedly complied, handing over a batting helmet and bat.

"_That's_ what I'm talking about," the pitcher responded smirkingly, getting ready to throw the ball while the still-infuriated-beyond-common-sense batter glared away.

Scarcely slowed down by the long game, America shot off a bullet of a fastball, which England had no hope of hitting.

"Strike."

As Germany tossed the ball back to the pitcher, enough of England's initial fury had died down for the island nation to wonder why in the name of Charles Dickens he was attempting this.

America fired off another blistering pitch, and England tried to swing, but couldn't quite hit it.

"Strike two!"

"Well," America laughed, "I guess you _should _have just hid behind the dugout walls, huh? So pathetic—you have to start out the bottom of the last inning with two outs in a row!"

The batter managed to hold his temper for a full six seconds.

* * *

"So," sighed Lithuania as two certain players continued throttling each other at the pitcher's mound, "nice weather we've been having, huh?"

"_Let's see how well you pitch with your bloody arm broken!"_

"Yeah; not a cloud in the sky," Estonia replied, looking up at the clear blue above.

"_Good luck with that, decrepit old geezer!"_

"And there's a nice breeze, too," put in Spain.

"_Take that, you boneheaded little tosser!"_

"Yeah, keeps things from getting too hot," agreed Hungary.

"_Bring it, Brow-monster!"_

"…Is anyone planning to stop those two, aru?"

"_Is that the best you've got, you insolent pile of blubber?"_

"No, not really," replied France.

* * *

After several minutes of scuffling and an eventual intervention by Germany, the game was ready to go on.

Rotating his shoulder with a wince, America prepared to pitch again. His fastball was hardly as lightning-like as before, but England never swung.

"Ball."

"What?" America exclaimed. "Was not!"

"That was a ball. He couldn't have hit it if he tried."

"Well, I know _that_—look at him—but that doesn't mean it's a ball!"

"America, that was a ball. My say is final."

Grumbling, the pitcher knelt down to pick up the baseball Germany had tossed back.

The batter let out a weak laugh. "Not so hot now, are you?"

"At least I don't look like I just stepped out of a wolverine-filled, flaming blender."

"…You do realize that made no sense whatsoever?"

"I try."

After an unnecessarily loud throat-clearing from the catcher, America pulled his arm back again and threw.

England swung this time, although the hit was so weak the baseball only tumbled a meter away into foul territory.

"Foul ball," Switzerland said as Germany walked over to pick up the ball.

"Yeah, you totally got out of that unscathed," hollered the pitcher. The batter grumbled something under his breath but was too beaten-up to consider doing much more.

"England…!"

With slight confusion, the batter looked up. Immediately feeling horrible for forgetting his magical best friend, England made an apologetic face.

"Should I help out now?"

Aware for once other people who couldn't see Flying Mint Bunny were watching, England just responded with a small nod and an irrepressible smile.

America, noticing this odd behavior but chalking it up to the steroids he _knew _England was on, fired off the next pitch. England swung and hit it feebly. The baseball avoided foul territory this time, but it still didn't look like it was going far.

At least, not until Flying Mint Bunny pounced on it midair and starting flying with it toward the fence. To any eye that did not perceive magic, the baseball seemed to be soaring away from the batter's swing.

This, of course, rendered America absolutely witless.

"What kind of steroids did you _take_?" he wailed as England walked, hands in pockets, to first base.

"We both know good and well I haven't taken any steroids," scoffed England as Switzerland called the home run. The batter continued on his infuriatingly—to America, at least—slow walk around the bases.

In all reality, England was only walking so slowly because of the injuries he incurred. But if it nearly drove America to tears, he certainly didn't mind.

Coming in for a landing, Flying Mint Bunny dropped the baseball onto the ground and jumped back into the air to return to England, who was just rounding second base.

"How was that?" the creature started cheerily, flying in wide circles over the running player. "I bet nobody else suspected a thing!"

England beamed at his friend. "Definitely! You did amazingly!"

Flying Mint Bunny laughed charmingly, and England couldn't help joining in.

"Don't you laugh at me!" America yelled, pointing an accusatory finger at the baserunner. "You—cheater! You dirty, rotten juicer! People like you are responsible for the degradation of the sanctity of baseball!"

Now actually laughing at America, England continued parading down the basepath.

* * *

"So, who wants to bat next?" sighed England, leaning against the dugout wall and, between frolicking with Flying Mint Bunny and abasing America thoroughly, in an exceedingly good mood.

Sensing this, France volunteered to hit next.

"Yeah, sure, go ahead," England permitted between laughs. "Don't… Don't strike out or anything…" He trailed off into more laughter.

"…Someone should stop him, aru… I don't think it's healthy for a grumpy person to suddenly start laughing that much…"

With horrifyingly quick timing, France started chuckling. "Oh, I think I might just be able to do that…"

Those in the outfield, who couldn't see what was happening in the dugout, were probably wondering what that sudden British-accented, harpy-like screech was.


	20. That's Not How It Works

A/N: Sorry for the slow update! I kind of ran out of jokes for a little bit. But things aren't over just yet~ Please review! I write faster when I get reviews. :3

After making it absolutely clear that a certain Frenchman was _not _to even attempt trying to bat in this inning or any feasible games in the future—through both a series of ungentlemanly words and a healthy amount of strangling—England looked back around the dugout to see who would bat next.

"Well, do you want to bat _now_?" he started, turning toward Latvia.

"Um…" Having been completely thrown off by the constant changes in events, the nation wasn't completely sure what he was supposed to answer at this point.

"I'll go, aru."

"Hm. Fine," the pitcher sanctioned, making sure to sound begrudged.

* * *

"Ball."

Unendingly perturbed by his slight injuries messing him up, America wound up to pitch again. Firing off the baseball with a grunt, he launched the sphere almost straight to China, but the batter didn't quite swing in time.

"Strike!"

The third time proved to be the charm; China launched the ball toward center field. He started for first base, where Prussia stood, ready…

Until the German suddenly squeaked and started running for the outfield.

"Eh?" China looked over his shoulder to see the backup for his run was Hungary.

Meanwhile, back at the outfield, Finland and Canada were both running for the ball. Canada, of course, was progressing much slower than Finland as he wasn't planning on being run into again.

It didn't look like Finland was going to quite reach the ball, and Canada, who had been closer to begin with, was at least grateful no one would realize the drop was mostly his fault.

The baseball thumped onto the ground with Finland still a meter away. A disappointed Canada hung back and watched as the blonde shuffled forward and prepared to pick up the ball.

Neither noticed Hungary rushing for them until it was too late.

Reaching the baseball's position before Finland quite arrived, Hungary stormed through, grabbing the orb from the ground. Unfortunately, her mad dash to the area rendered her unable to stop, and Canada, despite his precautions, found himself being bowled over once again.

Hungary jumped back to her feet, clutching the baseball with both hands. She observed the scene, nodded a brief apology to Canada, and then started jogging toward the back of center field.

China, meanwhile, had rounded first base—he was simultaneously glad Prussia wasn't there to block him, and disappointed he couldn't get back at Prussia for that—and was heading for second.

Finland was now the closest to Hungary but a little intimidated by the country who was now daintily progressing toward the back fence. He followed her, anyway, and, since she didn't have much of a place to run, Hungary soon found herself face-to-face with the Scandinavian.

She whipped out her frying pan so fast its source could still not be determined. Finland gulped and took a step back, almost wishing Sweden were around.

"I won't hit you if you don't take the ball," Hungary said serenely, holding Finland's gaze.

"Right…" Finland kept staring at the bottom of that frying pan like it was the barrel of a gun.

Back at second base, Poland was too distracted by a cloud that looked suspiciously like a pony to do anything about China stealing his base.

America had finally decided to go after the baseball himself. Passing Poland, who was just now realizing China had passed his base, the pitcher ran through center field and soon approached the fence where Hungary and Finland were more-or-less facing off.

Hungary immediately noticed America's presence, and, accurately labeling him as more of a threat than Finland, pivoted to face him.

" 'Kay, gimme the ball," the pitcher started, holding out a hand.

"No."

"You sure?"

"I'm sure."

Hungary and America had a brief silent stare-down until America finally lunged for the baseball. Defensively, Hungary took her first swing of the frying pan. It clanged against America's head, but, the strike being one-handed and America not having that much of a brain to rattle around in his head anyway, the pitcher didn't go down that easily. Hungary, baseball still firmly in her other hand, sidestepped to buy time. America matched her, and, not getting the chance to reposition the baseball, Hungary just attempted to grab the handle with both hands as well as the ball. She managed not to drop anything and swung hard.

America ducked, and the unfortunate neighboring Finland got the pan to his head instead. The blonde went downbefore Hungary even knew what was happening.

"Um, sorry!" Hungary was momentarily distracted by the collapsed nation and wasn't keeping quite as strong a grip on the baseball as before. Now America could easily snatch it from her hands.

On third base, Romano was prepared to stop China. With his normal glare, the third baseman stood firm in front of his base as China approached.

"Move it, aru!"

"You're not getting past here," Romano said stubbornly, stepping to the side when China tried to get around him.

"All right," China started suddenly, relaxing.

"Huh? I mean—th-that's right! You'd better not mess with me!"

"Yeah, I guess not." China posed his arms akimbo. "If you're that sure you want Germany's team to win, who am I to stop you?"

Romano paused.

China immediately ran past him.

"Hey, wait a second, you bas—" He was cut short by a sprinting America shoving him to the side.

China, realizing the pitcher was right behind him, started to run faster. America stayed on his trail as the two approached home.

"Germany!" America yelled, only able to match China's speed. "Don't let him get to home plate!"

Germany, sure this wasn't allowed in the rulebook but remembering there really weren't any rules in this game anyway, slowly stepped to the other side of his base.

He then remembered a certain incident on a tropical island where the Asian had beat him senseless with a wok.

China was going _down_.

China, unable to slow down because of America and unable to keep going because of Germany, veered toward foul territory. Remembering the trick Prussia pulled,, China went for the fence and jumped.

His foot caught beneath the edge, and he front-flipped onto the metal stands. The ringing of the impact caused a few others to cringe.

But not America. He easily scrambled up the side of the fence and tagged China.

"Out! One out for Team Japan this inning," Switzerland announced.

With a tsk of disappointment—as well as a slight moaning from pain—China pulled himself back to his feet and staggered back to the dugout.

* * *

Back in center field, Hungary was still attempting to revive Finland. It wasn't working.

"Guys?" she started sheepishly. "I can't get Finland back."

"You can't be serious!" England gaped.

"Like, how many people have gotten knocked out in this game, anyway?" Poland started.

"Too many," England grumbled, peering over where Finland was still lying. "He's still not coming to?" he called.

"No!"

"Well…" England put a hand in one of his pockets. "If we can get to some hot water in this place, I could brew some fresh tea…"

America immediately burst out laughing.

"What's so funny?" snapped England.

"This is coming from the guy who thought it was ridiculously stupid to use a hamburger to cure a cold. Yet you still think tea is the answer to everything."

"Well, your cures are unfounded! Tea at least has antioxidants or something!"

"Yeah…"

"What kind of tea is it, aru?" China started, still holding a hand to his aching head.

"Earl Grey," England answered.

"Oh," China responded, disappointed. "Well, everyone knows that won't do any good. Green tea's the only kind that really heals anything, aru."

"What a lie!" exclaimed England, waving his packet of Earl Grey in the air for some sort of emphasis. "Scientific studies have shown—"

"Forget what scientific studies had shown! You think I'd give _you _something that would make you stronger? That crap's been rotting your brain for 200 years!"

"That explains a lot," America put in.

"China, it's easy to tell you're lying through your teeth—"

"Stop that!" Germany interrupted. "You can argue over tea some other time—we have more important matters to attend to now!" He motioned pointedly toward the still-unconscious Finland, who had been dragged in front of Team America's dugout.

"Fine, we won't try tea," England grumbled. "What brighter idea did you have?"

"Well, I could always play."

In response to the voice, about half of the players were surprised. The other half were terrified.

"Russia?" Germany responded, stepping back as the taller nation strode into the infield. "You… sure you're up for this?" he continued, knowing the price of KO'ing one's self on alcohol better than most other nations.

"Certainly." Russia rotated his shoulder with a wince. "Although I believe I'll allow America to retain his position as pitcher."

While America scoffed at "allow", Russia, not waiting for a confirmation of his position, made his way to center field with one hand on his aching head.

* * *

Back in the dugout of Team Japan, England started to look back around the players.

"Well, I'm sure you three won't want to be batting," he started, in turn receiving fervent nods from the Baltics.

"And that leaves… Italy, Spain, and Hungary." The pitcher glanced over at Hungary even though she was still panting from her defensive run.

"So, Hungary," England started, "how exactly can you swing a frying pan fast enough to knock out someone with one hit, yet you can't quite hit the baseball with a bat?"

Hungary shrugged. "Smaller target?"

"Hm." England frowned. "Well, it's too soon for you to bat, anyway. Then, considering Italy thinks the baseball is out to kill him, I guess that leaves Spain."

"All right—let's go," Spain responded, getting up and picking up a helmet and bat.

* * *

"Strike one."

Spain geared up for the next pitch, and it wasn't long before he swung again. The baseball sailed over Poland's head and toward the center of center field.

Russia, a little distressed he really had to jump into things so early, backed up as the baseball approached. He tried to catch it, but his reactions were too slowed-down.

So the baseball naturally thonked him right in the head.

He flopped to the ground immediately, prompting the rest of the players to stare mouths agape instead of continuing the play.

"Please tell me he didn't just get knocked out." Canada, the closest, walked over. Russia wasn't stirring, and he didn't react when Canada nudged him in the side.

"Well… Crap," America responded.

"How many people are going to get knocked out in one baseball game?" exclaimed France.

"We should have played cricket instead!" put in England.

"Baseball is way better than stupid cricket!" America responded.

"How so?"

"For starters, we got all of these guys to play a game of baseball. They're not going to agree to play a game of cricket."

"Oh, really?" England turned toward the closest person in his dugout. "Would you play cricket with us?"

Latvia stared back. "I don't think I'm going to play _any _sports anymore."

America started laughing, which drove England to madness. "So… no sports whatsoever…?"

"Not with you lunatics!"

"Latvia!" Estonia moaned. "Don't call people lunatics!"

Latvia looked at his neighbor with confusion until he realized the implications of what he had said.

"Uh, s-s-sorry! I didn't m-mean it!"

Estonia facepalmed.

"Can we just get on with the game?" Prussia interrupted, not happy about a chance to show his awesomeness being delayed.

"_I just lost The Game_!" America announced suddenly.

A few countries stared at him confusedly, Romano swore loudly, and some others grumbled that they had also lost The Game.

"I just _won _The Game!" Prussia responded.

"You can't win The Game!" said America. "You can only put off losing for as long as possible!"

"Well, maybe _you _can't win The Game. But I'm more awesome than The Game, so I win The Game. "

Unable to top Prussia's awesome-brand logic, America just crossed his arms and muttered something about cheating.

"So, can we, like, get back to the _baseball _game now?" Poland finally started.

Snapped out of his muddling over The Game, America turned around. "Uh, right."


	21. The Winner

A/N: Well, guys, looks like this is the end. Thanks so much for reading and reviewing, and I'm glad at least a few people got some laughs out of my rambling! :)

"So…" The pitcher turned toward Spain, who was at home plate. "Do we need to give you a head start or something since we already found the ball…?"

"Oh, no, I'm fine," Spain replied. "I already ran around all the bases while you were arguing."

"No way!" Romano responded. "If you passed my base, I would have noticed!"

"You don't notice most of the things I do," Spain countered with a faint laugh.

"So…" America, brows furrowed, turned to the umpire. "Did he really…?"

"Yeah, he scored a run," Switzerland replied. "I announced it, but _someone _was shouting too loudly for anyone to hear."

After a "wha-a-a-at" from America that lasted about ten seconds, Switzerland rolled his eyes and announced the run again.

"Spain scored a run. That's twenty-seven runs total for Team Japan."

America felt the urge to check the scoreboard. It already said 34-27. He was still way in the lead. No worries.

"Well, fine, then," the pitcher finally announced. "We'll just have to get the next two batters out!"

* * *

Back in the dugout, Spain had finally returned, a certain three players were suddenly a lot less sure Russia was going to stay out for the rest of the game, and England was looking over those who hadn't batted yet. The remaining countries were Italy, who wasn't going to bat; the Baltics, who weren't going to bat; France, who _definitely _wasn't going to bat; and Hungary.

"Would you like to bat for us, then, Hungary?"

"I guess so."

* * *

"Strike two!"

Germany threw the ball back as Hungary, unsettled, got back into a batting position.

America, meanwhile, was simultaneously relieved at the easy out sure to come but a bit disappointed things weren't accelerating towards an exciting final battle to the death or anything. He threw the baseball again, anyway, and Hungary failed to hit it.

"Three strikes—you're out! That's two outs for Team Japan."

Hungary walked back to the dugout with a slight frown.

* * *

"So… What now?" China started as the dugout reassembled."We're still seven runs behind, aru."

"Yes, and we're certainly not going to get through the rest of you without a strike," England added, his glance resting on Italy a bit longer than some of the others.

Italy scooted a little bit farther away from England.

"The last out, huh?" Spain mused to himself.

"Ooh!" Italy suddenly exclaimed, apparently forgetting he was in the process of cowering from England. "We should have Japan hit it!" He got a few weird looks. "Well, it's his game, right? So he should get the last hit!"

"One problem: Japan's still unconscious, aru."

"Oh." Italy paused for a moment in which anyone that didn't know him would assume he was thinking. "Well, let's wake him up!" He immediately hopped over to where Japan was resting on the bench and began repeatedly calling the Oriental nation's name.

"I don't think he's going to wake up for a long while yet," sighed England.

"Hey! Are you guys going to actually _bat _anytime soon?" America hollered from the pitcher's mound.

France raised his hand a bit. "I could always bat—"

"No!" England snapped immediately. "You'd just hit the ball into foul territory fifty times… anyway…" The island nation hesitated. Was this last out worth letting France win an argument?

Uh, no.

But since winning the game would be major bragging rights over America, and it wouldn't _really_ be France's doing if there was enough time for Japan to recover and win the game for them, England eventually tossed France a bat.

* * *

"Foul," the umpire called for the fifth time this at-bat. Germany, grumbling, went to fetch the ball yet again and tossed it back to America.

"C'mon, Francey-pants!" Prussia yelled from first base. "Hit the ball right! You're making me and Spain look bad for hanging out with you! Not cool!"

"Why are you cheering for him?" the pitcher responded, wheeling around on his heels to face Prussia. "You're on _my _team!"

"I'm not on your team. I'm on Team Awesome. It consists of only me."

"I'm totally on Team Awesome!" America objected.

Prussia pondered this for a moment. "You're on a Team Awesome, but not _the _Team Awesome."

"Am too."

"Are not."

"Am too.

"Are not."

"Am too—"

"Quit squabbling and get back to the game!" interrupted Germany.

"Oh, right," America responded. "Sorry. He turned back around.

"…Am too!" He threw the next pitch before Prussia could counter him.

* * *

Meanwhile, everyone left in Team Japan's dugout was trying to figure out a way to wake Japan up. Italy's name-calling and poking didn't seem to do the trick, nor did Hungary's whispering something—she wouldn't tell the others what—in his ear. England was pondering whether or not another kitten would do the trick, while China had decided to try flicking Japan's forehead repeatedly.

Nothing seemed to be working just yet.

* * *

"Okay, _this _is ridiculous," America complained as the baseball was tossed back to him for the twelfth time. "Is it possible for you to suck this much?"

France laughed. "Well, unlike you, I don't have enough time to spend my days whacking a little white ball with a stick. _I _have far too many women after me. Of course, I completely understand that you won't be able to comprehend this… Being you and all."

America couldn't come up with a decent comeback, so he just insulted France's playing skills again and threw the next pitch.

"Foul."

* * *

Though he was still fairly convinced Japan wasn't waking up any time soon, England found himself flipping through his spellbook to summon the kitten again. After a bit of incantation, the adorable black kitten reappeared in all of its adorableness. This sufficiently pulled Italy away from Japan, but the Oriental nation didn't seem to be waking up yet.

England set the kitten down on Japan's chest. The adorable little cat immediately wandered up towards Japan's neck and starting mewing adorably. This still didn't change anything.

* * *

By now, America had completely lost track of how many fouls France had hit. All but one strike, that's all he knew. But he was starting to get seriously ticked off at how horribly France was butchering his beloved sport. Because apparently nothing else in this game reeked of that.

"Can we have a new rule?" he started, impatiently spinning the baseball in his hand.

"What rule would that be?" Switzerland sighed.

"More than ten fouls is an out."

Switzerland shrugged. "Okay, but the other team has to agree to it—"

"I don't agree!" called England from the dugout before he resumed whatever he was doing.

"Okay, then. No new rule."

"Urgh!" America stomped the ground before firing off the next pitch. At last, it wasn't a foul.

It was a ball.

America didn't catch the baseball thrown back to him because he was too busy facepalming.

* * *

The adorable kitten had begun to sweep its adorable little tongue over Japan's chin. The nation seemed to stir a little, but he wasn't awake.

England was just about ready to call this a lost cause. Then he started to wonder if he was forgetting any spells in that book of his…

He flipped back to the Table of Contents, but before he got as far as the basic levitation spell, he was interrupted.

"I think you're forgetting something important, England!" sang Flying Mint Bunny, swooping down land in England's arms. "He's not just asleep; he needs healing."

"England looked at Flying Mint Bunny for a moment before getting on the same wavelength.

"Do you think you could fetch Unicorn?" he said quietly, remembering for once that other people were around to hear him.

"Yes, sir!" Flying Mint Bunny piped, taking flight again. "I'll be straight back!" He circled his friend once before zooming off.

England, slipping his ruffled spellbook back into a pocket, turned to check how France's stalling was going.

By this point, no one had been able to keep track of all the fouls, especially since Liechtenstein couldn't find anywhere on the scoreboard to display it. The scoreboard still read one strike and one ball. And America was about to explode of impatience.

England smirked. America must have been _so _frustrated at the lack of strikes, but England supposed that was just because he had beaten the other nation soundly in their scuffle.

This, of course, had nothing to do with the fact England actually got out of that fight with more injuries.

* * *

"Strike two!" Switzerland finally called. America immediately broke into a victory dance, which irritated Germany, who was waiting to toss the baseball back.

"We haven't won yet," the catcher growled.

"Yeah, but it's impending," the pitcher responded, finally slowing down in his dance and preparing to catch the baseball.

France, meanwhile, wasn't looking as good. He sure wasn't hitting hard enough for home runs, but he'd certainly been swinging that bat around for a while.

He hesitated as America got the ball back from Germany.

"Can we take another break?" the batter finally proposed.

"And let you rest just because you suck? Uh, no. We can take a break once you finally strike out. Which is totally going to be right now."

France begrudgingly got back into a batting stance, wondering if the fellows in the dugout were even making progress.

* * *

"Sorry I took so long!" Flying Mint Bunny gasped, nearly divebombing England as he came in for a landing.

"No worries," England assured his friend. He heard clip-clopping and turned to look over his shoulder. Unicorn was finally trotting over the field and approaching the dugout.

"Unicorn!" England greeted enthusiastically. He was a bit too excited by all of this to notice all of the stares this remark got him.

"Good to see you," the enchanted horse panted, clopping into the dugout.

"I already told him everything," Flying Mint Bunny said as Unicorn approached Japan.

"Good job!" England responded with a smile. He turned to watch Unicorn

The horned horse was trying to find a space not occupied by one of the team members attempting their un-magical ways of waking Japan. He finally found a gap large enough and bowed his head down to rest his horn on Japan's chest.

With a blaze of magic so bright and sparkly everyone in the dugout could notice a bit of it, Japan stirred. He sat up, confused expression on his face, before finally opening his eyes.

"You're awake!" exclaimed Italy, apparently thinking this was exciting enough to warrant a hug-attack on Japan.

The newly-awakened nation was still too disoriented to overreact to someone hugging him.

"What's going on?" the Asian finally muttered, almost to himself.

"We're in the last run of the baseball game," China answered, "and we're going to have you bat it, aru. Well, once America throws another ball and gives France a walk, aru."

Japan knitted his brows together. "We're still in the game? How long have you been playing?"

"Long enough," England answered.

"All right…" Japan stretched his arms, still confused at how he wasn't suffering any repercussions from his mad batting streak earlier.

"You _will _be able to bat, right, aru?"

Japan rolled a shoulder.

"Yes, I think so."

"Good!" interjected England before turning to see how France and America were doing.

* * *

"Ball four!" the umpire announced. "That's a walk!"

A flabbergasted and very irritated America wondered how France could have gotten through all of that with just two strikes.

France didn't quite know, either, but he was more aware he probably wouldn't be able to move his arms for the next couple of days. But, hey, it worked.

"Okay, then," the pitcher started, rubbing his throwing shoulder, "who's batting next?"

Japan walked up to home plate.

"Oh, hey, you're up!" America reacted.

"So it seems." Japan cracked his knuckles before resuming a batting stance.

"Down to the two of us, huh?" said America with a grin as he began to wind up for the pitch. "Then I guess it's time to settle this once and for all!" He sent the baseball flying toward home.

Japan, fully refreshed from his destructive run earlier, swung hard. The ball soared towards left field and over the back fence.

"Home run," Switzerland called as France started jogging the bases. "Two more runs this inning for Team Japan."

His team now only five runs behind, Japan geared up to bat again.

"So, uh…" America, upon being tossed a fresh baseball, hesitated. "You just gonna… keep hitting?"

"If you do not cause me to strike out first," Japan replied simply.

Taking this as the closest thing to a diss Japan would produce, America growled to himself and coiled up to pitch.

"I'll just have to strike you out, then!" he roared as the ball flew from his hand.

"Strike."

The tension in the air immediately skyrocketed.

"Uh, hey, Japan!" China called. "It's all right to go back into that crazy hitting mode, aru!"

Japan looked back towards him skeptically. "I'm not sure if I could manage that again. I've only just recovered from it."

"Try anyway!" England interjected, figuring this was a much better way to go about things than telling Japan he was actually perfectly fine because a unicorn had healed him. That might have been a little harder to swallow.

This method seemed to work to some extent, though; Japan geared up to bat again, and he sent the next pitch flying.

But it didn't quite clear the fence.

Japan took off sprinting as the baseball thumped onto the last stretches of center field.

"Who's got that one?" America started excitedly, turning around.

"Um, I don't think, like, anyone's even in center field anymore," Poland said, glancing over his shoulder uninterestedly.

"How about you go get it for once?" spat back America.

"No way. The other outfielders are, like, totally way closer to it than I am. I'm not, like, running that far. My hair would get all sweaty and grody. Like, ew."

"You're such a girl."

"Like, what?"

"Never mind." America didn't take long before deciding to run after it himself.

Meanwhile, one of the outfielders was still asleep, but Canada was trying to get to that ball in a hurry. Wouldn't it be great if he threw the tag that got Japan out and won the game? The others would surely remember him then!

Canada reached the baseball before America did. The younger nation pivoted and started running towards the infield.

That's about when America caught up.

"G'job, Canada," he started, keeping up with him and holding out a hand. "Now give it over."

"No way," Canada panted, keeping the ball in his grip. "You always get to make the winning throw. I want to do it for once."

"But you're not the hero!" America protested, continuing to wave an arm over by Canada's hands. "Come on! It's my team! I have to do it!"

"Well, if we argue too much, neither's going to get it!" retorted Canada, nodding towards where Japan was crossing the shortstop's path.

"Right. So give it to me already!"

"No!"

The two finally reached the dirt of the infield area.

"Hand it over, Canada! Don't make me make you!" threatened America.

"You can't make me!" Canada gasped, turning away from second base in his pursuit of Japan, who had crossed third.

"Oh, yeah? Watch this!" America lunged for his neighbor and just caught his non-baseball-holding arm. Canada gave an indignant yelp at the force, but he wouldn't stop running. America kept up before suddenly wrenching his teammate's arm around behind him. Canada was forced to thump back against America, but he still held the baseball as far out in front of him as he could.

It proved to do no good, though. America twisted it out of his grasp with relative ease and went sprinting after to Japan, who was halfway to home base.

"Run, Japan, Run!" Italy called cheerfully, while a few others in his dugout joined in cheering the baserunner on. There wasn't much of a response to this in the outfield other than Prussia yelling that if America's un-awesomeness lost him the game, he'd never forgive him.

America seemed to be closing in either way. Japan kept his best sprint up, but so did America.

Home plate approached. Japan dived. America lunged. The result was a sizeable cloud of dust that obscured the vision of all but the umpire. For a few tense moments, the cloud hung in the air. Then it settled, revealing Japan with one foot on base and one baseball touching his shoulder.

Everyone looked to Switzerland, who continued to gaze evenly at the scene before him.

"I got him, right?" America panted.

"Oh, no, you didn't," Canada put in bitterly, though America ignored him and the others didn't notice. No calls but Switzerland's mattered now.

At the sound of the umpire inhaling to speak, most everyone held his breath.

"Japan," he started, "did not reach the base in time! That's three outs for Team Japan, end of inning, end of game."

The area was still breathless for a moment as the players took in the information.

Then America starting whooping and jumping around. A few others on his team ran over to congratulate him, while Canada continued to sulk and Greece continued to sleep.

Team Japan was a bit less enthused. Though the Baltics were relieved they could not in any way be pinned as making Russia's team lose, the rest of the team was fairly disappointed. That is, if "fairly" can be taken to mean "punching walls at random and on the verge of a riot".

While the other nations were arguing, Switzerland quietly slipped away.

* * *

By suppertime or so, things had settled down. Japan's team had convinced he didn't have to commit seppuku for losing them the game—he was the only one that gave them a chance, anyway—America and England had finally beaten each other to a pulp after the former did some excess gloating, and China had banged his head against the wall enough times he wasn't quite capable of doing it again.

Of course, after finding out from Japan that the competition for his friendship was a lie, Turkey and Greece took out a bit of their anger on the liar himself, who, between that pair, England, a little bit of strangling from France, was about ready to get the crap out of there.

Though the Baltics had to make a shaky side trip to pick up the still-unconscious Russia, the whole group was soon headed for the exit.

The huge doors of the entrance and quite possibly the only way out were shut tight. And the owner of the stadium was leaning against them expectantly.

"So," Switzerland started with the barest grin, holding his hand out, "who's got their playing fees ready to pay?"


End file.
